


Snowfall

by TuxedoCatLady



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Clarke's got this, Delinquents, F/M, Full Cast - Freeform, Gen, Multi, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Sloooooooow, Slow Burn, Survival, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-01-10 20:24:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuxedoCatLady/pseuds/TuxedoCatLady
Summary: Ice and sky are not unfamiliar friends. Every winter, snow falls cover the earth to bring in a new spring.Safe is a relative thing these days. That being said, Arkadia is pretty far from even the loosest definition of the term. The devil you know is not always better than the devil you don't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome all! I came late to the 100 fandom and had just started watching when season three was coming out. I binged up to 3x05, then heard about what happened to Lexa and Lincoln and just had to stop. This is my sort-of fit-it. Some people die, but most of them live. I write fanfiction pretty regularly, but haven't posted anything since I was fourteen, but I'm pretty proud of this so far, so please read and review. The tags may or may not change. I haven't decided yet. I have about 30,000 words of this written already, to be posted on a regular basis until I catch up to where I am now. I plan on making this about 50,000 - 70,000.

The signal went up without any notice. Even those who were looking for it were surprised. Clarke waited at the passage out, counting her people as they passed through. Abby had gone first to make sure the path was safe, but she had made Clarke swear to not wait more than an hour. As much as Clarke was physically nauseated by the idea of leaving someone behind, she couldn’t risk the majority of them for a few who hadn’t kept an eye on the flag. By the end of the hour, sixty four of her seventy one people were out. She couldn’t sacrifice sixty four for seven. She stepped through the door and didn’t look back. 

Six minutes of stumbling through the dark, twelve more minutes of slow moving by moonlight, and she came to the hollow of the nearby cliff that was the predetermined meeting place. All sixty four had made it here.

“Where are the others?” Raven was the first one to say it.

“If they didn’t see the flag within an hour, it’s because they’re already asleep. We can’t risk staying. There’s nothing to directly link them to us, so while they will probably be under suspicion, they can’t be tried for anything.” Abby said. It was best not to start their odyssey with people challenging Clarke’s leadership. 

“If all goes well,” Clarke said. “We’ll be back for them within a month.” 

“If all goes well? You told me four days ago that negotiations had gone stale. How the hell are things supposed to go well if we don’t have anywhere to go? We can’t just show up on their doorstep and ask for them to take us in, pretty pretty please. The Woods Clan is our second best bet, but that’s not looking too good, considering that they hate us right now and barely have the manpower to take care of themselves, let alone us too.” Octavia said. Lincoln put a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off, but when she started talking again it she was less agitated. Other people were nodding in agreement. “Boat Clan is too far away for us to make it on our own, and the Capital is in chaos. We’re running out of options.” 

“No. We stick to the original plan. Negotiation were promising, we just got stuck on technicalities. We want the same things. This WILL work. You are all here because you have trusted me in the past. You have trusted me with your lives. Now you need to trust me again. Trust me for one more week. Trust that I can get you to safety.” Clarke called out over heads of her people. “If you can’t do that, then by all means stay. But be warned, the reason the flag dropped with no warning was because, right now, the guards are building a gallows with four nooses.” That shut the murmuring down for a few seconds before it renewed a few seconds later, much louder. It was Miller the elder who shut it down this time.

“That’s why the flag fell before we were fully prepared. Three hours ago Pike sent out the order to set up a scaffold. We don’t know who was going to be executed - the guards weren’t going to be sent out to pick up the victims until daylight - but the platform was going to be huge but you can bet your asses that every one of those four is here now.”

“Except for the ones we left.” Someone called out.

“Sixty four people go missing in the middle of the night, including their entire prison population, means that they’re going to have better things to do than start killing the few people they have left. Like I said, they have no reason to think they were connected to us, especially not if we leave them behind. So now either you are coming or you’re not. But we start walking now. We’ve got two hours until shift change, another five hours after that ‘til dawn when they can actually send out people to follow us, which means we have seven hours to walk almost fifteen miles to the borders. It’s another two miles to the nearest town, in case they’re brave enough to follow us over the border. We need to leave.” With that Clarke turned and started North. Within minutes every single person was on their feet following her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The journey was slow moving and laborious. Everyone had managed to sneak a few things out, things that Clarke and Abby had suggested as being useful for their new life, but now those books, tools, and supplies were proving to be more of a burden than they had predicted. That was nothing compared to Raven, though, who couldn’t walk half a mile unaided. Lincoln had supported her for nearly an hour before even that was proving difficult, so he just carried her. He had to switch her around a few times as his arms got sore and started to clamp until they settled on her riding piggyback. It looked more than a little ridiculous. Despite this, they still managed to make decent time and crossed the border as the sun rose over the trees. They had had to walk nearly an hour through the woods before they made it to a major road that took them all the way to the border.

The relief was palpable when they crossed, but Clarke kept them going for another twenty minutes before she let them stop for the first time since they started that night. A ten minute rest quickly turned into a half hour when every single one of them started to cramp up. Several people had even fallen asleep by the time they worked up the motivation to move again. They had barely been walking for ten minutes - much slower this time - when a riding party burst through the foliage. Within seconds they were surrounded.

“ _We seek audience with the King_!” Clarke called out in Trigedasleng.

“The King does not see vermin.” One called back in English. Clarke couldn’t tell which one. They had started circling her group and had masks covering the lower half of their faces and wild, ratty hair covering the rest, but they wore the insignia of the Palace. They were probably border patrol of some kind.

“Your King will see me, or you all will face the wrath of Wanheda.” Clarke said viciously. Authority rang through her voice.

The riders slowed down some, but kept circling. One drew apart from the rest, coming closer than the others. Clarke guessed it was a man by the size.

“Who claims to be the Wanheda?” Was called out by someone in the circle. The man didn’t utter a word.

“I do. And these are my people. Your King is expecting us. If we do not arrive on time you will pay with your heads.” Clarke lied with absolute certainty. The single rider looked her over for a minute before pulling back into the crowd and peeling off the other side with someone on his heels. If Clarke had to guess, she would say that it was a commander and his second.

“Where do you hail from?” The smaller one asked. His voice was high and young.

“From Arkadia and the Woods Clan. We have an agreement with the King. Take us to Pensa.” She demanded again. The smaller one nodded. The circle of riders broke apart into two lines.

“Follow us.” The smaller one said. They all set off as one. A minute later one of the riders took off from the group, riding hard up the road, no doubt bringing word to Pensa.

Clarke approached the two front riders. “I should tell you, we have been walking for seven hours. We’re dead on our feet. We can’t walk for much longer before we start falling down. Raven there-” She gestured to Raven, who was now walking again with the help of Nathan Miller. “- can barely walk on the best of days.”

The smaller of the two looked at the other, who nodded, and he swung down off his horse, handed to reins to the rider behind him, walked over to Raven, who was now paying close attention, swept her up in his arms, and tossed her onto his horse. She managed to grab the horn of the saddle and stabilize herself before she slipped too far one way or the other. She looked like she was biting a hole in her tongue to keep her mouth shut. Clarke winced on behalf of her, but at least she didn’t have to walk anymore.

It took most of an hour to get to the small collection of buildings that was the town. There were a dozen or so houses, a tavern, a square, a larger military fort, and what looked like the entrance to an underground structure, probably a food cellar. No doubt there was double the population of the town proper living in the surrounding area. There wasn’t a person in sight. The town square was packed dirt and stone, but it was bordered by soft grass and small trees. Clarke considered quietly assigning watches before letting her people rest, but thought better of it. If the riders were going to attack, her people would be slaughtered and a watch wouldn’t do anything to prevent it. Instead she found a soft patch of grass to lay down on.

It feels like minutes late when she’s being shaken awake by her mother. She tries to get up, but her legs have trouble holding her weight. The others are no better. Raven can’t even get her good leg under her, let alone stand. Warriors start moving through the crowd, pulling people to their feet where it was necessary. The shorter of the two leaders offered Clarke his hand. Without his mask, Clarke could tell he was in his late teens, probably 17 or so. She wasn’t very good at reading scars yet, but she new the patterns across his forehead were unfinished. He was a second.

“It would be my commander’s honor for the Wanheda to ride with him.” The boy said.

“It would be my honor to accept.” She said as tactfully as she could. The boy lead her over to the larger man. His scarification was much more complex and spread across his face like a web, with two large, definitely unintentional scars slicing through his eyebrow and cheek. He was grizzled and gray and definitely a much more experienced warrior. He didn’t actually speak to her, just gestured to his horse. Clarke took that as a sign to get on. She managed to get on in one try, which was a bit miraculous considering the height of the animal and for how sore her legs were. The man held onto the horse’s reins, not even offering them to Clarke, so she figured that he would just be leading her. The boy was already on his way over to Raven, this time offering her his arm. She accepted and he helped her much more graciously onto his horse. They were now riding next to each other.

The boy was a jittery type, restless and probably talkative in a different situation. The man was decidedly not. The horses seemed to be used to it. The horse Clarke was on was a beautiful black mare, solid coloring down to her whiskers. A horse breed for a king, if her minimal knowledge was enough to go on.

They walked on rather uneventfully for the rest of the day. Abby and the Miller’s passed out what was left of their food around noon. They stopped for ten minutes at a time every hour and a half. Once in early afternoon and later before the sun set a few of the riders moved through the group, handing out food. When the dusk started setting in properly they stopped for the night. The warriors didn’t bother with tents. They spread out in the forest, wrapping themselves in their saddle blankets and huddled in twos on the ground. The boy managed to find a few extra cloaks and blankets, but not nearly enough for all of them. Rather than fight over them, Clarke spread them out over the ground, covering as much space as possible, and had people squish together. There still wasn’t enough room, so she and a few others ended spread out like the riders in small clusters. Clarke and Abby found a bush to sleep under. Lincoln and Octavia settled in the roots of some trees. The Millers slept out in the open under the stars. Others were here and there. Clarke crossed her fingers again and hoped they wouldn’t be killed in their sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

One minute Clarke was wondering if she would be able to sleep surrounded by fighters that she didn’t know, and the next she was jerking awake from a dream of a beautiful cage. She didn’t remember most of it, only the terror of being trapped and the deep, soul crushing knowledge that she would never escape for as long as she lived.

She opened her eyes and it was dawn. Whether it was Clarke’s sudden movements or the sun breaking the horizon and filtering through the canopy, Abby was waking up too. One quick look around confirmed that the riders were all up and moving. Her own people were much less ready. Nathan was still face first asleep in the grass while his father was standing and stretching out the pain from the day before. Clarke had to use a tree branch to haul herself up and do the same. Her right knee was throbbing and every muscle in her legs and lower back ached. Her calves and inside of her thighs were particularly bad. She started doing a series of stretches that Lexa had taught her when she saw Lincoln and Octavia start to go wake people up. The boy - at least Clarke thought it was the same boy, but it was hard to tell from this distance - grabbed Lincoln’s wrist and start whispering to him. Lincoln nodded, glanced over at Octavia, who was also listening, then look over at Clarke. Clarke dropped her routine and started towards him as he started towards her. 

“What’s up?” She asked.

“He says we don’t have to get up right now. That we won’t be walking today, so it doesn’t matter if people stay asleep.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I have no idea. It doesn’t really make sense for them to be giving us a day of rest right now. We’re still two days walk from Pensa.” Clarke was too tired to want to deal with this right now, but she headed towards the captain and his second anyways. 

The boy greeted her first, enthusiastic as ever, before the man had even turned to face her. She spoke to him.

“Why are we waiting? We need to move if we want to make it to Pensa tomorrow.”

It was the boy who acknowledged her. “We sent a rider to the capital. She should be back within the hour.” 

“Why not walk to meet her? We’ve got close to forty miles of ground to cover.”

“We wait.” The man said. It was the first thing Clarke had heard him say and she suddenly understood why he didn’t talk. His voice was as rough as sand and quieter than you would expect. Clarke took another good look at him and realized that he had a faint scar running across his throat where it had probably been slit years ago. 

“Tell me why. Truthfully.” She said.

“Rider bring message to King. Will return message from King.” His English was rough and broken, either from his difficulty speaking or because he didn’t know the language particularly well. Clarke couldn’t really tell which.

“Well okay then. Is there anything else I should know?” 

“No.” 

Clarke walked back to Lincoln, now standing with Octavia, Abby, and David Miller.

“What’s up?” Abby asked. 

“They sent word to the King yesterday. We’re waiting for the rider to come back with a message from him.”

“And is this bad?” David asked.

“Well we lied.” Octavia said. “We claimed to already have permission to travel along his roads to his capital, when we never even finished negotiations, so possibly? It would depend on how cool he is about it.”

“If he’s understanding and open minded about us not having a choice, we’ll be fine. So hopefully it’s all good. But I don’t know exactly what to expect.” Clarke said.

“Could we be in immediate danger?” David asked.

“I doubt it.”

“So we’re stuck.” He said. 

“Unless we can think of some way to defend ourselves?” Abby questioned.

“Looking defensive would be suspicious and make it more likely to not go our way.” Lincoln said.

“How screwed are we?” 

“We aren’t. We just need to get to Pensa so that I can talk to him in person.” Clarke said.

“And are we counting on their good nature to get us there?”

“We don’t all need to get there. At least, not all right away.” Octavia said. “Just Clarke. A good horse only carrying one person can go about forty miles in one day.” 

“Except that I don’t know the way by myself. I would need one of them to show me.” Clarke said.

“There would be signs along the way.” Lincoln said. “But stealing a horse is dangerous business. If you take the wrong one, the rest of them could easily outpace you. And they’re better riders than you, so they would be faster anyways. It’s an option, but a bad one that could get us killed.”

“So we’ll put a pin in that one. Any other idea’s?” Octavia said.

“Have them take you there.” David said. “If they won’t let us move until the message gets here, then they probably won’t be willing to let you and one of their riders run off, but when it does, if things don’t go to hell, you could talk the big guy into giving you a horse and one of his riders to go talk to the King. Did they tell you… ” He trailed off at the sound of an approaching horse. “Well speak of the Devil.”

“And the Devil shall appear.” Abby finished. Clarke was already on her way over to the leader and his second, where the rider was dismounting. She handed a letter to the man before moving away to care for her horse. 

He started to read before Clarke got to him and suddenly she could feel her heart in her throat, pumping against her chest, as she thought of all possible things she could do to ensure a good outcome for her people. There was nothing. The uncertainty was impossible to predict. If she knew the King was going to turn against her, she could plan accordingly. Only she didn’t know that. By all accounts he was on her side, but only to the extent that he could get what he wanted. But she didn’t know what he wanted, not exactly, or how he would go about getting it. All she could do was stand in front of this captain that she had never met before as he read a letter that’s contents she couldn’t predict than would determine his actions, unless he chose to do something completely different.

He read the letter slowly. Maybe it was longer than it looked. Maybe the King’s handwriting was particularly messy. Maybe the captain wasn’t a good reader. Whatever it was, he took several minutes to read one page of paper. Then he handed to note to the boy, who read it in the same amount of time. Eventually he turned to Clarke. 

“The King says he awaits your arrival.” Was all the boy said.

“Is that all?” Clarke very much wanted to be on the same page as them.

“No. But it is what’s important. He has sent transportation. It should be here by noon.”

“How long will it take for us to get there?”

“Ten hours of driving, longer because the horses are tired. Tomorrow, most likely.”

“I need to get there sooner. Can one of your riders lend me their horse and a guide and I can leave for the palace now, rather than wait for the transportation?”

The boy looked to the man, who thought about it for a moment, before nodding. The boy ran off into the woods where the warriors mingled. 

“Thank you.” Clarke said to the man before turning back to the people waiting behind her. Abby, David, Octavia, and Lincoln were standing in the exact same place, now joined by Raven. 

“So what did it say?” Raven was the first to speak.

“I don’t know exactly, but they told me the King is waiting for me. He sending some transportation to pick you all up. I’ll be riding to the capital soon, while the - I don’t know, carriages or something - get here around noon. Then we can hash out the rest of the agreement before you get there.”

“Are you sure you want to go alone?” Lincoln asked.

“Yes. I - We have a rapport. I know him. He’ll only deal with me.” 

“Okay. Okay. When will you get there?” Abby said.

“Tonight, I think.” Clarke could see the boy waving to her. “Wish me luck.” She turned to head towards him.

“Clarke,” Abby said, grabbing her wrist. “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

“Mom, I know what I’m doing.”

Abby nodded, her face stony. She pulled her daughter in for a hug before letting go. Both Octavia and Raven touched her hand as she walked by, but no one said anything else as she walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke and her guide, a girl about the same age as the boy, probably also a second, traveled North, then West, then North again. They didn’t travel as fast as Clarke would have liked, but that was no one’s fault but hers. She wasn’t experienced enough to maintain the same speed as her guide. They evened out to a nice trot that would get them there without tiring themselves out. Rather than stop for food, they just ate nuts and jerky from the saddle. Clarke dropped a few bits here and there, struggling to get the hang of it.

After about an hour, they had to slow down and move to the side of the road as a caravan of at least a dozen carts and wagons rode by. Clarke’s guide called a greeting to them, which they returned, before they moved on. The rest of their ride was uneventful, almost dull. 

They rode for most of the day, until the sun was nearing the horizon again, only a few hours from dusk. It was probably around 7 in the evening when the walls became visible. They rose, like a great beast of architecture, forty feet high out of the trees. The trees were so tall that, as high as it was, the wall wasn’t fully visible until they broke through the tree line and entered the 300 or so feet of plains that bordered the wall. Having fought Grounders in a forest before, Clarke knew how the trees could be used as cover, and she liked the simplicity of this defense against them. 

The wall had sentry’s lining the top as far as Clarke could see. The road led directly into a massive iron and wood gate half the height of the wall itself. Once inside the gate, Clarke realized that it was really only the tip of the iceberg as far as security. There was a second gate, fifty feet behind the first, made of stone with walkway filled with archers, pikemen, and swordsmen. The road between the two gates was completely lined with guards. They made no move to stop Clarke or her guide as they trotted their horses through both gates and into the city proper. 

The first thing Clarke noticed was the smells of tens of thousands of people. The city was cramped, held tight by the walls, so everything was built on top of itself. Rough, barely held together houses sat on top of each other like ramshackle apartment complexes. Like Polis, Pensa was built on the ruins of the old world. It could be seen in a lamppost here, a building there. The street widened as they got further into the city until it was thirty feet wide, all tightly packed dirt and dust and wave after wave of people. There were more and more people the closer to the center they got. Some had goods, some had livestock, while others were armed and armored. The diversity was fascinating. 

The guide was in the lead, parting the crowd with her horse, and kept looking back at Clarke like she was anxious she was going to disappear. They came across a massive market, teeming with so many people that it simply wasn’t possible to get a horse through. They ended up going around it, traveling around the edges of the stalls, which were still packed. The pedestrians seemed to have no fear of the horses, so it was difficult to move forward. When they did, it was in bits and pieces. It took almost an hour to travel around the market alone. The rest of the journey was uphill. The sun was starting to set in earnest now, and the people were fewer and farther between. Whether because of the time of day or they had simply entered a less populous area, traveling got much easier.

Night came so suddenly that Clarke looked over at the sky, thinking a dense cloud had moved in front of the sun. She realized that the sun had just passed below the wall, changing the light dramatically and throwing the whole city into shadow. It was jarring, how instant the shift was. But her guide seemed to know the way, even in the barely existent twilight. The road twisted so that they were facing true north again, and suddenly, looming out of the darkness and shadows, was the palace. It was still far away, all things considered, but there was nothing blocking it from view anymore. It was also massive. She couldn’t tell what it was made out of, or the exact shape, because of how dark it was, but she stared intently at it, trying to gauge as much as she could about it. As they approached, Clarke realized that there was a wall around it, too. This one seemed smaller, maybe only twenty feet tall, and not nearly as tall as parts of the palace. It was stone too, and also manned by guards, though there were not quite as many as on the outer walls. 

The gate looked like wood encased in iron. It was maybe twelve feet tall, and only one of the doors was open. Clarke’s guide dismounted before passing through the open portion. Clarke started to do the same, but the woman stopped her.

“You are the Wanheda. You may address the guards from above.” It was perhaps the third thing she had said all day. Clarke stayed, remembering the importance of looking the part of a leader. The girl took the reins of her horse and lead them through the wall. Just like the city wall, this one had a walkway with variously armed soldiers. On the ground were a few people, who hailed them. 

“ _ Who are you and what is your purpose _ ?” One asked the guide in Trigedasleng.

“ _ I am Katta of Altonen. I bring Wanheda to speak with the King _ .”

“ _ We were told to expect a caravan in the small hours, not two riders at dusk. You are lucky the gates were even open. Do you bare a seal _ ?” 

“ _ Wanheda thought it best to speak to the King as soon as possible _ .” Katta said, producing the letter the King had sent that morning. The woman looked the wax seal on the front over, but didn’t open or read it. 

“ _ We will send word _ .” Was all she said. When she turned to go, Katta spoke up.

“ _ Will you leave Wanheda out in a courtyard _ ?” The girl said rather indignantly. The woman looked back.

“ _ We will see what to do _ .” She said before leaving. Two other people followed her. 

Clarke wasn’t particularly thrilled to see that the archers along the walkway had turned to face the inside with arrows notched in their bows. None of them had drawn it back, but it was clear they were ready to at a moment's notice. Bored and achy, Clarke decided it was time to hop down from the horse. Her leg cramped up halfway through and suddenly she was falling towards the dirt with barely a chance to get her other leg under her. She stumbled when she made it to the ground, but didn’t fall, though it was anything but elegant. She became acutely aware of how much her lower body hurt and started to stretch, not particularly caring how she looked. Katta stood a few feet away, obediently holding both horses. It was maybe ten minutes before a very young - perhaps eight - and very winded boy came running into the courtyard. 

“If it -” He stumbled out before doubling over, trying desperately to catch his breath. “If it pleases Wanheda, the King would speak to her as soon as she is ready.” He spoke in reasonably good English.

Clarke gave the poor boy a minute to catch his breath. When he could stand up straight again, she put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m ready to speak to the King. Can you take me to him?”

“Yes!” He said excitedly, jumping to lead her to the front doors of the palace. It was a well paved brick path through what seemed to be gardens, though it was difficult to tell. The torches were spaced farther apart than they had been at in the courtyard. The door was beautiful old oak covered in intricate carvings reminiscent of the face scars. It was opened before they got there by a set of doormen and they walked into the entrance hall. Clarke didn’t get much time to look around as they went through the palace since the boy was practically skipping along, but she noted the smooth pink granite walls, the straight corridors, and the artwork hanging on every available inch of space. It was mostly tapestries, but with a few paintings or wood carvings here or there. They all depicted some sort of battle, thought Clarke didn’t have the time to stop and look closer.

They passed through another set of double doors, similar to the front door, but with different markings and a set of sentries who opened the door upon their approach. Clarke wondered how complex this place was. Rather than hallways and passages leading off the main corridor, there were doors and stairs. They came to a third set of doors, again solid oak with deep patterns, but this time it was closed and the guards made no move to open it for them. The boy made a hard right just before the door anyways, turning down a smaller hall that only had doors or torch alcoves in the left side. The art was fewer and further between as well. A few hundred feet down the hallway dead ended, with nothing but an open door set deep in the wall. The boy stopped just before the frame and bowed Clarke inside.

The room was on the small side with dark panelled walls, deep burgundy rugs, a heavy wooden desk, and a few plush chairs. The wall behind Clarke, where the hall had dead ended, had a large window. The wall to her right, with the door in it, was covered in artistic maps with elaborate pictures. On her left was a few waist high bookshelves. The wall she was facing, across from the window, had a large roaring fireplace. Against the fireplace leaned Roan. He was dressed for comfort, wearing loose linen pants and a plain white shirt, untied to the middle of his chest. His hair was up in a pile at the back of his neck. Everything about him was rumpled. Clarke was pretty sure he had either been asleep or preparing for it. 

“Good evening, Clarke. We weren’t expecting you for another few hours. The kitchen is preparing you some food. I know you’ve been on the road for a while. Feel free to help yourself while you wait.” He gestured to the desk. There was a pile of fruit, some fresh rolls, and a bottle of something dark with a glass next to it. 

She picked at the bowl. It was mostly strawberries with a few early cherries. She pulled one of the rolls apart and ate the pieces before pouring herself a glass from the bottle. It smelled alcoholic. It tasted tart, but not as bitter or harsh as she was used to.

“What is this?” She asked.

“Cherry wine. From last years harvest. I would have had people waiting for you outside Arkadia if I had known you were coming.”

“It was an emergency.”

“What kind of an emergency?” His voice was quiet in the vacant air. 

“The kind you run from.” Clarke took a hard swig from the glass. “Pike was going to kill us.” Her voice was quiet too. “I mean, I don’t know for certain, and I don’t know who he was planning on killing, but he was building a stage for lynchings. A gallows with four nooses.”

“Four? Does he not know that they can be reused? You only need more rope.”

“Exactly. Unless he wanted it to be a statement. Or he wanted to kill a lot more than four people, and didn’t want it to take all day.”

Roan took a drink from a glass of the wine on the fireplace mantle. “How many do you have with you? My rider told me there were around close to seventy.”

“Only sixty four. We were supposed to have seventy one. I had to leave seven behind. There was no time. I had to give the signal, then stand guard over the exit in case someone got suspicious. Between the prison break and the fast timeline, there wasn’t time to make sure everyone got out. I need those people back, Roan. Before they get hanged. I promised I would protect them.”

“I can send some soldiers. They rely on farming outside of their walls. We can hold that food as leverage against them. Food in exchange for hostages. It would be their own death not to take the deal.”

“There’s more than that. Skaikru aren’t good farmers. Even with the extra land, there’s still shortages. Monty, one of the farmers, told me weeks ago that we were going to run out of food long before we had our first harvest. We were expecting something like this. Thinning the population to make the food last longer. Pike waited longer than we expected him to. We still weren’t ready, though.” 

“How does this concern us now?”

“They may attack the nearby clans again to steal their food. If they do, it would be on me.” Clark was sitting down now and Roan had approached the desk. There was a knock on the door.

“Enter.” Roan called. A guard wearing grey and white - palace colors? - entered, pushing a cart. She took the plate off the top carefully, wary of the coals underneath it, and set it on a thick wool cloth on top of the desk. She then took the lid off and set silverware next to it.

“Thank you.” Clarke said. The woman bowed to her, then to Roan, before backing out of the room. Clarke dug in. The meat was still sizzling, fat dripping off it onto the flat bread underneath. Roan let her eat in peace for a while, sipping his wine by the fire. 

“We still have some… finer points to discuss.” He said eventually. Clarke wiped her chin on a napkin before looking up at him underneath an arched eyebrow. 

“Stop being delicate. It doesn’t work for you.”

“Alright. The conditions. Have you agreed?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That could mean a lot of different things, Clarke.” His face was blank in an uncanny, unnerving way that was distinctive to him.

“I have conditions too. They’re important to me. I will agree to nothing unless they’re met.”

“Then I will meet them.”

“Don’t even want to hear them first?”

“Not particularly. You have my word that they’ll be met.”

“Wonderful. It’s not good enough, though. I want it on paper. A full contract, with written agreements and detailed consequences.”

“A contract like that would need to be witnessed by my small council. They can gather tomorrow.” He came around the desk to sit in the chair next to Clarke and poured them both another glass of wine. Clarke drank it down. She very quickly became aware of the fact that she had no idea how much alcohol was in this wine and she had been drinking it on an empty stomach. 

“Tomorrow then.” Her brain was getting foggy very quickly. The food settled deep in her stomach, heavily and lethargic. Eating so much so quickly was a bad idea, especially considering she had only had a handful of nuts and dried meat all day. The exhaustion hit her like a ton of bricks and she was yawning before she could stop herself. 

“Tomorrow.” He confirmed. “The gates usually close at dusk, but they’ll be kept open until your people get here. Rooms are being prepared for them. Everything else can wait.” 

Clarke knew an out from an unpleasant conversation when she heard one. Standing up, she twisted a bit to get blood flowing again and looked over at Roan. Her mind was at a blank as for what she should say. “Good night, Roan,” she settled on.

“Good night Clarke.”


	5. Chapter 5

The boy was still outside the door, waiting for her.

“I am to take you to your rooms, my Lady.” He said as formally as an eight year old can. 

“Show me the way.” She said. He started down the hall, back the way they came. He was still walking quickly, but there was no one waiting for her anywhere, so Clarke took the time to slow down and look at the tapestries. The boy was half way down the hall before he realized that she wasn’t with him anymore. He hopped back over and stood at her elbow, waiting for her to move on. “Do you know anything about these?” She asked.

He scrunched up his face for a second, thinking about it. “No, my Lady. These are lesser battles.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mica, my Lady. Of Hese.” 

“Hese. Where is that?”

“It’s a town in southeastern Azgeda. We’re known for our food-” His face scrunched again, thinking, “- the food that we sell to other places.”

“Export. The word you want is export. If you buy something from somewhere else to bring home, it is an import.”

“Export. Thank you, my Lady.” 

“So is there artwork in one of the other hallways that you can tell me about?” She asked, turning to him again. He perked up like a rabbit. 

“Yes, my Lady!” He took a few steps down the corridor again, turned to make sure Clarke was following him, then set off at a slower pace. They retraced their steps for a while until they came to the second door, the one that was kept open. They walked through it, then turned left immediately and wound up in a much larger hall than any they had been in earlier. It was wide enough to need chandeliers. Mica came to one of the biggest pieces, a huge wood carving that had been painted over with vibrant oil colors. 

“This is the War of Alegeerie. It took place one hundred and eighty years ago. The Alegeerie were tree and boat people. They used to have their own lands. They lived on the water in the summer, the forest in the winter. King Swens, no, Nero, it was King Nero, wanted the land. He told them they could give it to him and leave, or he would take it. They refused to leave, believing that their land would protect them. They were wrong. Because they didn’t have cities, the war was long, but they lost. As punishment for disobedience, the King took their firstborns. It was the beginning of the Great Expansion, pushing Azgeda all the way out to the Western Wastes.” The image was filled with red tones, from the fighters in the foreground decked in leather and gore, to the setting - or possibly rising - sun painting a violent pattern in the clouds. 

“Did he play an instrument?” 

“Pardon?”

“King Nero. Did he play an instrument? Did he make music?” 

“I don’t know, my Lady.” The boy was clearly confused by her question. Clarke let the image of an Azgedan King overlooking the slaughter while playing a fiddle as the sun painted the world the color of blood and fire fade from her mind.

“How long did the Great Expansion last?” 

“Almost forty years. It spanned across six monarchs. It wasn’t until Queen Rikka marched on the Clans that the expansion stopped. The Commander - I can’t remember which commander it was - but the Commander banded all of the Clans together to fight us. It took every warrior within a thousand miles to push back the Azgedan armies. When the Commander realized that the armies were too well matched, they sent out spies to find the Queen’s children and hold them hostage until the Queen repented for her actions and swore an oath of loyalty to the Commander.” Mica spoke it like he was reciting exact lines from memory, stuttering here and there where he couldn’t quite remember the exact wording.

“Six monarchs in forty years. That’s what, six and a half years each? Such short reins.” Clarke said, mostly to herself. She thought about how six different monarchs had laid down their lives and the lives of their people to acquiring power. She also thought about how short those lives became because of it.

“I can’t remember his name, but one of them died after less than a month. His Queen aunt died in battle and he was crowned within the week, then returned to the battlefield to finish her fight. He died by arrow, like she had.” 

“He must have really known what he was doing.” She said sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t know.” The boy said meekly, suddenly a bit shy. Clarke realized what she had just said could be taken as disrespectful to the Crown. She had no idea if it was punishable or not. 

“Tell me about some of the others.” Clarke said, trying to steer the conversation back into safe territory.

“I don’t know much about the others, my Lady.” Mica said, looking at his feet.

“Mica, what’s your favorite thing about the palace?”

“The gardens.” He didn’t even have to think about it.

“There are gardens here?”

“Absolutely! They’re beautiful in the spring, after snow melts and the flowers poke through and the trees bloom and the birds start nesting.” 

“Is it too late in the season to see things bloom?”

“No, my Lady. The early flowers have come and gone, but many others are blooming now. The trees are just waking up.”

“Take me there.”

“Yes, my Lady!” And just like that he was the bubbly child he had been when talking about the painted wood carving.

Rather than walk back the way they had come, Mica lead Clarke out the opposite end of the hall. The walk was surprisingly short. They passed a guardswoman, whom Clarke recognized as the one who had brought her food, and walked a few hundred feet more before they came to another set of double doors.

“Wanheda would like to see the gardens.” The boy said to the guards. They opened the doors silently and moved out of the way. Mica excitedly moved out into the night, not checking to see if Clarke was following him. She did.

Her first breath of the night was like a breath of air after drowning. Her lungs burned with the relief of it. She closed her eyes to soak up the feeling. 

“My Lady,” the boy said tentatively. When she opened her eyes he had a lantern in his hand and was looking at her with a tinge of worry. 

“Lead the way.” She said with a smile. He grinned back and turned to walk down the lined path. Mica had grabbed the light closest to them, but there were more lanterns and torches at regular intervals. The path was simple gravel lined with stones and surrounded by grass. Clarke couldn’t see much outside of the lantern light, but it was interesting to look out over the gardens and see where the main path, which had two lights on either side every five feet, branched off into lesser traveled paths, which were only lighted on one side. “Mica,” he turned to look at her. “What’s your favorite thing here?” She asked him quietly. 

“We’re heading that way, my Lady.” His voice was low too. They walked further along the main path, past several forks until the palace door was a distant thumbprint in the wall. Then Mica stepped off the path, foregoing it entirely, and walked from memory. Clarke stopped just long enough to toe off her shoes to let her soles slip through the grass. She could hear the rustle of leaves and something small moving its slow way around the lamplight. Then, looming out of the darkness in shadows, then form, was a bush the size of a tree. It was at least eight feet tall, with twisting gnarled branches that spread out from the ground like a cloud. As Mica moved closer with the lantern, the flame flickered here and there, making the branches look like they were dancing. 

“What is this?” Clarke asked him. 

“Mountain laurel. It grows all over the place, but this one’s my favorite.”

“Why this one?”

“Because this is where my cousins died.” He said. The answer was so unexpected that Clarke was speechless.

“I’m… sorry.” She said eventually.

“They were my best friends. I stayed with them a lot. They were my age, give and take a year. My aunt didn’t mind, as long as my keep was paid for. They always did stupid stuff, though. That’s why they would play without me. I would tell them that what they were doing was stupid, so they didn’t want me to ruin their fun. Mountain laurel is poisonous. Everyone knows it. But if your spirit is destined to be great, the poison won’t kill you, only hurt. It can tell. So if you eat it and survive, you know you’ll do something great. They did stupid stuff. They wanted to know if they were going to be great. They were found under that over there.” He pointed to a particularly low hanging branch. 

“Mica, I’m so sorry.” Clarke said. Somehow the boy didn’t seem affected in the least by his own story.

“Now I visit their spirit and tell them how great I’m going to be.” He said with a smile. It wasn’t a big smile, but it wasn’t sad either. “I like to sit on them sometimes. My aunt left, so it’s just us now.”

“Mica, what about your parents?” Clarke was anxious to know the answer.

“They’re busy.” He shrugged, then quickly added “My Lady. So this is my favorite spot in the palace.”

“Thank you for showing it to me, Mica.” She said. He beamed up at her, shuffling his feet around a bit. He stood close to the tree but didn’t quite touch it. The branches were thicker than a thumb but not as thick as a tree’s would be. The leaves were the size of a hand and deep green with dusty pink buds. Clarke was fairly sure she recognized the plant, but couldn’t think of what it looked like in full bloom. She wondered which part of the plant Mica’s cousins ate. 

“Come on, let’s sit down. I’m not supposed to be anywhere any time soon.” She said. He nodded and immediately wiggled down into a nook in the branches with the movements of someone who had done it many times before. Clarke chose to lie further away, laying flat on her back at the edge of the branches’ canopy so that when she looked up, half her vision was filled with the plant and the other half was open sky and stars. The grass was damp and she could feel it through her shirt, coolness spreading from where she set her weight to the rest of her back. It was most prominent at her shoulder blades and elbows. 

Clarke had hoped that laying on the ground would help her world stop spinning. Instead, she just felt like the world was spinning faster and she could feel it, every moment of it, as it spun around and around the sun. Centrifugal force. That was the term, she thought. The force that kept her rooted in place even as things spiraled more out of control than ever. The stars seemed to be still, though. The leaves of the bush were still. The air was still. It was just Clarke spinning as she stared up at it, trying to get a grip. Clarke and the lantern, dancing across the underside of the leaves. Clarke's eyes unfocused, looking at nothing while taking in everything. Once she did that, the next logical step was to fall asleep. She didn’t even notice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I live for the comments and reviews. Like I said, this is the first fanfiction I have posted since I was much younger. I love to hear ongoing thoughts and theories.

There was a whispering in her ear. It was saying something familiar but distant. No, not distant. They were calling her. Not her name, but her nevertheless. She opened her eyes. Mica stood next to her feet, but he hadn’t been calling her. No, it was the guardswoman. The one she had seen in the hallway and had brought her food. 

“Wanheda. Word has been received from the city gates. Your people have arrived in the city. They will be here soon.” She said. She was kneeling next to her. Clarke thought about the odds of running into this particular woman so many times so quickly.

“Alright.” Clarke said, rolling to her feet as best she could. Ever muscle in her body hurt. “Where are they?”

“They haven’t arrived at the palace yet, but they should be here soon. A wing has been prepared for the Skaikru. When they arrive, they will be escorted there.” The woman repeated very neutrally.

“Take me there.” She said as she stretched out.

“Yes, Wanheda.” The woman bowed and stepped out of Clarke’s way so that she could walk uninterrupted to the gravel path. 

“This wing. Will I be staying there too?” She asked. The woman was following at her elbow and Mica behind them both.

“Until more fitting arrangements can be made, yes. If the rooms do not please you, others can be found.”

“No, I want to stay with my people until they settle in. It’s going to be a rough adjustment period for them.” Clarke could see the door in the distance, surrounded by lantern light. It was still night, but it was a different kind of night. The stars were hidden and the air was heavier.

“As you wish, Wanheda.” The guardswoman walked at her elbow. Mica was behind them by a few steps. They got to the door, which was held open for them, and the woman moved to Clarke’s left, holding out her arm and bowing politely. Clarke took that to mean that this was the right direction. They kept walking like this, with the woman subtly gesturing which direction they were supposed to move in. Clarke wondered if the woman wasn’t allowed to let her out of her sight. She didn’t stop to look at any of the artwork. Eventually they made it through another set of the oak double doors, again with sentries, and one more corner before they came to a smaller, plainer double door. Two guards opened it for her, and she walked in. 

Clarke’s first thought was that this space was huge. Her second thought was that she was pretty sure she was on the ground floor, yet she was on a second floor balcony of an atrium. There was one floor below and one above her. Directly in front of her was a grand staircase leading down, and to her right was one leading up. The room was teeming with servants carrying everything under the sun. There were some carrying linens every which way, others carrying firewood, a small cluster moving tables onto the ground floor, and others just cleaning. When the three of them, no, two of them, - where had Mica gone? - walked in, every single worker dropped what they were doing to bow low before returning to work.

Clarke stared at the dozens of people moving around, working hard to provide her comfort. She wasn’t really sure what she should do right now. She looked around. 

“Could you ask for word from the gates about when my people might get here?” She asked the guardswoman. Mica really had disappeared somehow. “The boy, where did he go?”

“He had other duties. I will send someone to the gate.”

“Thank you.” Clarke said. “And I will need a pen and some paper.”

“Yes, Wanheda.” The woman said before backing away to do as she was asked. 

Clarke moved to the edge of staircase and sat on the top step, watching the organized chaos unfold before her. Things started to take shape as chairs and tables and settings made their way into place. Tablecloths were snapped out and set with silverware. A glass of wine appeared next to her and she drank it gladly, reinforcing her buzz. Fifteen minutes later she had emptied that glass and then the next one too. A messenger arrived to tell her that her people had arrived at the palace and would be making their way through to her soon. Clarke just nodded as he backed away from her like the guardswoman had. Within minutes of his departure, a steady stream of servants started bringing in heaps of food and drink. Slats were used to roll barrels and carts down the stairs. Every one of them politely ignored Clarke as they worked around her. They set out platters and casks and vats, more than enough food to feed every one of her people for the next day. Then the servants left and Clarke was very suddenly alone with her wine and her thoughts. She pulled out her watch. It was four in the morning. She got up slowly, every muscle in her body aching, and made her way down the stairs. She was pouring herself another glass of wine when the doors opened again.

Octavia and the guardswoman were in the lead, followed by dozens more Skaikru. They trudged in slowly, some coming down the stairs but most of them didn’t bother. The guardswoman closed the door and tucked herself into a corner, out of the way and easily overlooked.

“Well here we are.” Clarke said. Her voice carried easily in the open air. “Eat. Theres plenty of food. Drinks too. Then split up, pair off, whatever, and go to sleep. Get as much rest as you can. We won’t be able to sleep the day away.” Her people murmured their agreement and moved towards the food. Clarke took a few more gulps of her wine and climbed through the sea of people walking down the stairs. She still didn’t know anything about the space they had been given, despite having had plenty of time to explore it, so she just started opening doors and looking around. Pretty much all of the rooms had the same general layout. They were wedge shaped, starting with a small sitting area near the door and expanding outwards into a wider sleeping area with a hearth at the far end. They were fully furnished and wellkept, if fairly uniform. She climbed the second grand staircase up to the top floor, ignoring the guardswoman who moved out of the corner to follow her up. The bedrooms on the top floor where much the same as the ones on the middle floor. There was a set of double doors on the far side, though, and Clarke wanted to know what was behind if.

“Your Majesty,” the guardswoman called when they got to the other side. Her voice didn’t carry far, but it was enough to jar Clarke. The woman was only a few feet behind her, moving forward to open the door for her, bowing as she did. She had a package in her free hand. 

“Your pen and paper, Your Majesty. Is there somewhere I can put them for you?” She said. Clarke glanced around, quickly discovering that they were in a library of some kind. She didn’t particularly care though.

“You can hand them to me directly.” She said, meeting the guard’s eyes for the first time. They were blue. The woman hesitated anyways. “I’m no queen.”

“No,” The woman responded. “Only a god.” But she moved forward to hand the pack to Clarke anyways.

“How many people know I’m here?”

“My Lady?” 

“I walked through that gate five hours ago. How fast did news spread? Or has he been talking about it for months?” The wine had reached her head in earnest now. She felt like she should be angry, but she was just tired.

The look of polite confusion faded from the woman's face. “Neither, Wanheda. Not many people know. I am a member of the King’s Guard.” She laid a hand under an insignia burned into her vest. “I’m one of His Majesty’s personal guards. We know more than most. Word will spread, though. Tomorrow or the day after, the news will spread like wildfire. Wanheda is known throughout the twelve clans. They will whisper about intentions, about trust and about what violence or peace she might bring. There will be whispers of the day a god becomes one of us. To know that you are here, now, to stay, will bring terror and excitement throughout the entire kingdom.” She was closer to Clarke now than she had been. Her blue eyes were bright in her brown face. Her words were sharp. 

“You’ve been watching me since I got here. When you report back to Roan, what are you going to tell him?” Clarke said. 

“I’m going to tell him what I see. That you’re afraid and angry and no less strong for it.” Clarke wasn’t sure if either of those things were true, but she also wasn’t sure that they weren’t.

“Tell him what you tell him. Thank you for the paper.” Clarke said. The woman recognized a dismissal when she heard it and left, backing up until she reached the door. “What’s your name?” Clarke called when the woman was halfway through the door.

The woman turned back. “My name is Hawk.” She said, bowing.

“Hawk. We have a Raven downstairs.”

“Raven. Interesting.” Hawk said without inflection. 


	7. Chapter 7

The library was small, beautiful, and not particularly useful. There were shelves upon shelves of books as well as maps both rolled up in boxes and displayed on the walls. There were also a few plush armchairs, a couch, and a desk with a matching high backed chair. Clarke finally had her paper, but she was too curious to get to work immediately. The books weren’t in English and her Trigedasleng was patchy at best. The letters were familiar, at least, though not exactly English’s Latin alphabet. She searched until she found four with frequent illustrations, mostly wood prints, and sat back in a chair with her feet curled under her. Going one letter at a time, she sounded out the words as best as she could, working under the assumption that they were pronounced the same way they were in English. 

Most of the letters matched up with the English that she knew, even if they were slightly different, but there were three that she didn’t recognize at all. One looked like an infinity symbol, only the two circles overlapped like a very small Venn diagram. Another was a U with a line through the middle. The last looked like a square A, with right angles at the top instead of an acute angle connecting the sides. She was half way through the first page when there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” She called. She wasn’t quite sure who she was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Bryan. 

“Hi.” He said. He had a plate of food in his hands, as well as a glass of water. He glanced behind him before closing the door. He walked most of the way across the room before saying anything else. “They, um, you didn’t eat anything before you came upstairs. So I brought you some.” 

“Thank you.” He hovered awkwardly a few feet away from the desk before finally setting it down. He didn’t leave, though.

“Say what you want to say, Bryan.” Clarke said. 

“Why am I here?” It came out very suddenly and bluntly. “I was working against you. I sided with Pike. I hate the Ice Nation and that’s not going to change any time soon. Why bring me?”

“Did we force you to come? Did we drag you here kicking and screaming? Every step you took was a decision to come. Hell, you helped with Raven. Nathan gave you a choice, and you chose him. That’s how you got here.”

“That’s not what I meant. Why did you let me come? I can’t imagine that Nathan didn’t tell you he would invite me.”

“He vouched for you. When he told me he wanted to bring you, he swore that even if you didn’t chose to come, you wouldn’t warn Pike.”

“Yeah, he made sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell me where we were going. He just sat me down and told me that he and some others were running away and that he wanted me to come with. That he couldn’t leave without at least talking to me. When I realized where we were going…” There was an anger deep in his eyes, buried underneath the betrayal.

Clarke was quiet for a minute, letting him feel his rage. “Do you want to go back? I could arrange it. There’s no telling what Pike would do, but we’re not going to hold you prisoner.”

Bryan shook his head violently, like he was trying to physically shake the feelings out of it. Finally he looked back up at Clarke. “Am I going to regret coming?”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “No, Bryan. For as long as I live, you won’t regret coming.”

He blinked once, then twice, looking like he had no idea whether or not he should believe her. Instead of saying anything back, he turned and left. Clarke exhaled slowly through her nose. She had no idea what to do with Bryan. He was now another unpredictable piece in a hellish swirling jigsaw of a puzzle. She knew nothing about the pieces, only that every one of them had a different idea for what the final picture was, and she seemed to be competing against them for not only her life but also the lives of her people. She drank down her water as she thought that maybe a puzzle wasn’t the best metaphor for her current situation. ‘Game’ didn’t really apply either, though.

She settled herself at the desk again, this time ready to do work. She unrolled the package Hawk had given her, which was linen gently tied around rolls of soft paper, all uniformly shaped with an even thickness. The texture felt similar to the linen. Clarke didn’t know much about the Azgedan paper industry, but she knew that this was probably high quality. Inside the rolls was a dip pen made of bone. Logically, Clarke knew that bone was very durable and supple, making it ideal for pens, but it felt so fragile that she barely wanted to touch it. She wondered what kind of animal it was from. There was also a tiny oilskin pouch with black dust in it. Powdered ink. No inkwell, though. She looked back at the desk, which was now strewn with her things, and started running her fingers over the surface until she found a dip in it. She grabbed the lantern off the wall overhead and moved it close enough to see that there was a square of black granite imbedded in the dark wood, with a circular hole in it. A built in inkwell. Her fingers came away black. She looked forlornly at her now empty water cup. 

Clarke got up with a groan, stretching her legs with each step. Grabbing her cup, she walked out of the door and ran right into Lincoln.

“Hey,” He said. “I was just coming to ask if you thought we should set up a watch? I know you trust Roan, but killing us in our sleep wouldn’t be particularly unlike them.”

Clarke thought about it for a minute. Like when they were on the road, setting up a watch would not actually do anything if the Azgedans decided to attack, but it would help her people sleep easier tonight. It would also reinforce the idea that the Azgedans weren’t to be fully trusted and make long term assimilation more difficult. “You know it wouldn’t do anything, Lincoln.” Lincoln was a seasoned warrior. There was nothing she could say that he didn’t already know. “You’ve already cased out this place, haven’t you.” It wasn’t really a question. “What do you think? What did you actually come to say?”

He took a breath before he started in a low voice. “Clarke, this place is built like a prison. There are no windows except for the loopholes, which are barely big enough to see out of. There’s only one way in or out. All of the walls are solid stone. If they locked the door, we would be trapped. The others haven’t started to question it, but they will soon. We could tell them that this is how the Ice Nation builds things, but it would be a feeble lie and no one would believe it. I knocked on the door to talk to the guards outside and they opened in for me, but they didn’t let me leave. Maybe that’s because they don’t trust me, which is understandable, or maybe it’s because we really are prisoners.” Clarke nodded. She trusted his assessment. 

“We still have to finalize negotiations. I’ll talk to Roan about it in the morning. Right now, we need to rest. Are there any disputes over beds?” 

“None that haven’t already been resolved.”

“Good.” She started walking past him, but turned back. “When I say we all need rest, I mean you and Octavia too. Sleep. Or at least try.” He nodded, but said nothing. They walked downstairs together, where he went into the room closest to the front door. Clarke really wouldn’t be surprised if he and Octavia stayed up as guards anyways. As far as Clarke could tell, he was the last one still up.

The tables were still set up on a bottom floor. It looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Dishes were strewn over the tablecloths, viciously torn into with bits and pieces left here and there. There were two barrels in the middle. One was water, which Clarke helped herself to. The other seemed to be some kind of beer. She thought about it a bit, then helped herself to a mug of that as well before heading back up the stairs. She was thirstier than she had realized and when she started drinking the water halfway up the stairs, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Her thighs, already sore from the walking and horseback riding, were ready to give out by the time she reached the ground floor for a second time to refill it.

Rather than try to get up the staircase again, she just sat at the table and laid her head face first on the cloth, arms over the back of her skull. She didn’t want to check her watch, somewhat afraid of what time it was. Every inch of her body was aching from exhaustion, but her skin felt like it was buzzing with awareness of the dozens of people just one wall away, people who relied on her, who were so close to her but felt so far away. When she finally lifted her head up, it was all she could do to not put it back down. Instead, she sat there drinking her beer. It was bitter and she was pretty sure that she could only stomach it because she was already intoxicated. 

Eventually her mind wandered to the impending negotiations and her options. It was the unknown that scared her more than anything else. She had no idea what to expect, only that she was meeting with a group of powerful strangers to make demands with little leverage to back herself up. The situation could easily become overwhelming. Her best chance for maintaining control was preperation. She needed to write out a list of non-negotiable points and conditions, as well as consequences should her terms be broken. She couldn’t know how the small council would react, and Roan was not the easiest person to predict either, but she already had his word and it wasn’t like him to renege on it. She had to be rigid. She couldn’t give an inch, simply because there wasn’t a spare inch to give. 

She had come up with a preliminary list by the time she was done with her beer. First, she refilled both of her mugs, then made the slow and laborious trek up the stairs. Her thighs ached with every step and she thought she could feel an unpleasant grinding sensation in her right knee. When she finally got to the library again, the door was open. 

“Clarke,” Abby said from her seat on the couch. “Can you close the door?”

“No one’s out there. They all went to sleep.” Clarke said, but she did as her mother asked anyways. She set her cups down on the desk before joining her mom on the couch.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but something isn’t right. You’ve always kept secrets, and I know you keep them to protect people, but I need to know; what’s wrong? Did we just walk into a trap? Or a cage? Will we have to run for it again? Talk to me.”

Clarke had never felt so completely incapable of talking to someone in her life. Her throat was dry and itchy, she felt every muscle in her body tense at once, and her eyes couldn’t focus on anything for more than a second. Her mom knew her well enough to notice.

“I don’t know. I know Roan. He’s a decent man who puts a hell of a lot of stock in honor and oaths. I have his word we will be safe. But it’s more complicated than that. I meet with his small council tomorrow. We can’t sign a contract without their approval. I don’t know anything about them.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Abby asked. Clarke shook her head. 

“No. I just need to keep my head. I feel helpless. There’s only so much I can do.”

“Welcome to the club.” Abby said as an attempt at a joke. It just came out sad. 

“I’m going to write out everything I need to remember to say. Go to sleep, mom. I’ve got this.”

“Why don’t we talk it out together?”

“I’d rather not. I can handle this. Like I said, I know Roan. Please. I could use some time alone.” Abby nodded after a moment, but didn’t move away. She slung her arm over Clarke’s shoulder and pulled her head down to rest on the older womans shoulder. Clarke, already tired, wanted to curl up in her mother’s arms and close her eyes and never open them again. She counted to ten before pulling herself up and off the couch and walked over to the desk. The papers were exactly where she left them. “Go to sleep, mom. I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

“Okay. We have the room next door.”

“Thanks. I know that this, this watching me take on so much, is hard for you, but thank you for letting me handle it. Things’ll get easier from here.”

“Clarke, I love you and I will always be here for you, but don’t try to placate me. I may not know everything, and you keep what secrets you have to, but that doesn’t mean you can lie to me. Goodnight, hon.” She walked over, kissed the side of Clarke’s head, and left.

Clarke sat down, wet her ink, and started to write. She didn’t have the energy to do everything in detail, so she started with bullets of all of her major points. The dip pen was unfamiliar and her handwriting was messy, but it got the job done. She wrote down all of the conditions, potential conflicts, their solutions, and consequences she could think of. She didn’t bother elaborating with more than a few words. Her writing was slow, but her scrawl was big enough that she filled a page soon enough. She flipped the paper over to continue on the other side, but her mind went blank. She could not for the life of her think of one more thing that needed to be addressed. She sat with her pen poised over the paper for another few minutes anyways, but the words wouldn’t come, so she put the pen down, folded her list in half, and hid it among her books. Then she got up, walked next door, and crawled into bed with her mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have sworn that I had updated this story earlier this week, but I guess I was wrong. My bad. I think from here on out I will try to update every Sunday. Thank you to all who comment! I love the feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chap. Stuff will be happening soon, though.

When Clarke woke, she did it groggily and slowly. After flopping around for a few minutes, she established three things. First, she would not be going back to sleep. Secondly, she was alone in the bed. Thirdly, that was definitely food that she smelled floating through the door.

As she stood, she could feel the unpleasant grinding sensation in her knee return. She didn’t really want to think about it. Instead, she thought about every single muscle in her body screaming for her to lie back in bed. The trudge out of the door was a wholly unpleasant one. Looking down over the balcony, she saw the Azgedan servants had returned and were trading out the mostly empty plates of food from the night before for fresh, sizzling dishes. Clarke could see some of her people milling about on the balconies and ground floor, looking uncomfortable and anxious. Clarke checked her father’s watch. It was 6:44, which was just after sunrise for late spring. It also meant that she had between two and three hours of sleep. With that in mind, she felt pretty okay. As she walked down the stairs, her muscles stretched out and she pushed the feeling to the back of her mind.

When she reached the bottom floor, the servants had finished setting up and and were retreating, but they all stopped long enough to bow to Clarke. She thought of what Hawk had said about word traveling quickly. She watched them leave until she realized that the servants weren’t the only ones there. By the door, talking to Lincoln, was Roan. He seemed immersed in the conversation, but glanced over at Clarke repeatedly. He clearly knew she was there, but made no move to enter the atrium further to talk to her.

Clarke bit her cheek and sucked it up. She needed to talk to him at some point. When she got closer, Lincoln backed away from Roan before turning to get some food. He did not wanted to eavesdrop.

“Clarke.” Roan gave her his full attention. His eyes flitted behind her for a second. She was pretty sure that there was a growing group of people behind her staring at them. “If you would like to finish negotiations tomorrow, it can be arranged. It doesn’t have to be today. You must be exhausted.”

“This afternoon is fine. Let’s get it out of the way.” Clarke said tensely. Roan’s gaze caught hers and held it.

“As you wish. Hawk will be sent to show you the way. My small council will hear your conditions and a treatise will be made.”

This all felt like small talk. He could have sent a messenger to ask her if she wanted to change the meeting. He hadn’t said anything that she didn’t already know. Clarke looked up into his angular face, trying to figure out why he had come. All of the servants had filed out. He was the only Azgedan left. He was obviously here to see her, but they would be speaking formally this afternoon. Unless that was why he was here. He wanted to speak to Clarke informally, privately away from the eyes and the meddling hand of a small council.

“I have no objections.” Clarke said. Roan stood a few feet in front of her. He didn’t twitch or fidget, he didn’t open his mouth like an overzealous fish. He stood tall and silent and the air filled with words he didn’t speak. Clarke wanted to hear them, but not enough to ask. If he had conditions or exceptions, or was having second thoughts, he could damn well say it out loud.

Instead, Roan gave her a polite nod of the head and left. Clarke went to eat. Octavia and Raven had already saved her a spot between them with an empty plate and a full glass of milk. She took the seat between her friends and idly picked at a piece of bread while thinking about the best way to make her demands when Raven elbowed her deliberately.

“What?” Clarke said. Raven gestured down the table. The seats were about half full, the rest of the Skaikru having slept through the sounds of breakfast being set up. But she wasn’t gesturing at the people, she was gesturing at the food.

“Eat something, Clarke. Appreciate it while we have it.” Raven said. Clarke looked at the food. It was only a breakfast spread, but the only time she had ever seen more food at once was at a celebratory feast in the capital. There was red meat as well as poultry, multiple kinds breads and grains, and fresh fruit and vegetables. The palace had barely had a day of warning about their arrival, yet still managed to feed them all as much as they could possibly eat. There was no rationing, no scraping and scrounging for a full meal. For the first time, Clarke and her people would not have to worry about going hungry again. Azgeda wasn’t rich, but they didn’t lack either and whatever struggles the kingdom might have would be hard pressed to reach her here in the palace. Clarke wondered what else she wouldn’t have to worry about again. She reached for the rice and dug in.

After eating, she grabbed two glasses of water and headed back upstairs. Her goal was to go back to the library to finish her list, but when she passed the room she and her mom had claimed, she doubled back and went in, against her better judgment. She set both glasses on the bedside table and crawled into bed, promising herself that it was only for a quick nap, and went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

When Clarke woke for the second time, the dull aches and throbbing pains that she had pushed to the back of her mind woke up with her. Her eyes were grainy and itchy, her mouth was dry, and her feet felt swollen. She was more rested than when she had laid down for a nap, but was now in considerably worse shape. Her watch read 12:34. Close to eight hours of sleep, all together. She rolled out of bed, body screaming, and stumbled out of her door.

Abby and David Miller looked over at her in surprise. They were standing a few feet down the walkway, talking softly enough that their voices didn’t carry.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked.

“Good morning. Did you get enough sleep? Are you feeling better?” Her mother asked.

“No. What’s wrong?” Clarke realized that she hadn’t seen her mother that morning when she had eaten breakfast.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” Her mother said. “It’s just that people are starting to feel, to worry, that this feels like a prison.”

“I know. Lincoln and I talked it over yesterday. I’m going to talk to Roan about it.”

“The thing is, is that we know and trust the Woods people, but these aren’t the Woods people.” Miller said. “Everything that the Azgedans do result in innocent people dying.”

“Everything Queen Nia did resulted in innocent people dying. Roan is not his mother. We have an understanding.” Clarke corrected.

“I know, but it would be nice to not have to take it on blind faith.” He said. Clarke just nodded. Roan, or possibly Clarke on Roan’s behalf, would have to make a very convincing gesture of goodwill.

“I’ll talk to him about it this afternoon. He’s just as desperate for this limbo to settle as we are. Is there anything else I need to know about?”

“No. That’s about it.” Abby said.

“Okay. Just let me know when the escort comes to take me to the meeting.” Clarke touched her mom’s arm lightly, then went back to the library. Her papers were exactly where she had left them, tucked away in a history book. The ink in her inkwell had dried again, but the half full glass of water was still there next to the day old food. She wet the ink again, then dipped the pen in the water to get the nib to loosen up. Her bulleted list was more or less complete, she just needed to hash out exactly what she wanted to say and how she was going to make her points. On a separate sheet of paper, she went point by point writing out what she wanted to say and the most obvious retorts to it, as well as how she would respond to those retorts. She was basically having a spirited debate with herself, trying to prepare for whatever might come up. It didn’t take as long as she had thought it would, though. She had been thinking obsessively about it for two days so she didn’t have to come up with anything new, just articulate the ideas that she already had. After about half an hour, when she was getting close to done, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Clarke called, shuffling her papers together and feeling more confidant about this meeting than she ever had before. It was Lincoln who walked in. He was carrying another plate of food as well as a mug of something. “Wow, people really don’t think I’m capable of feeding myself.”

“You do tend to get caught up in what you are doing.” He said. The plate had some kind of open faced sandwich on it. The mug seemed to be steaming. “A messenger came by. He said the meeting would begin in an hour.” He set the plate down next to her, then handed the mug to her directly. “Willowbark tea. I know how pain distracts you people.”

Clarke tried not to take his bluntness as an insult. He was right, after all. The tea smelled terrible, though. She decided to let it cool more and started poking at the sandwich. It was a dark meat on soft white bread with a pale squishy cheese. Lincoln was still standing next to her, close enough to touch. Clarke took a bite of the still warm sandwich - there must be a fresh spread downstairs - and gave him her attention.

“Do you trust me, Clarke?”

“Of course.” She said, curious as to where this was going.

“Then tell me how I can help.”

She shook her head. “You can’t. Thank you for offering, but there’s not really anything anyone can do right now. What will happen will happen. What I need right now, more than anything, is for you to keep the people downstairs from doing anything rash or stupid out of fear.”

“I can do that.” He said. Clarke stood up, forcing him back a bit. Lincoln wasn’t one for blind orders, but she needed him to know the importance of keeping things quiet and calm.

“Thank you for the tea. How did you get it?” She asked as she stretched out her legs.

“I knocked on the door and asked for it. They supplied. I wouldn’t tell them that you drank it, though. We use it to treat fevers and diseases only. Using it for pain is thought of as weak.” He said. Clarke decided to keep that in mind for the future.

“Did Raven get some already? She needs it more than me.”

“She has some.”

“Good. Thanks, Lincoln. And if I do need anything, you and Octavia will be the first to know.”

“You’re welcome, Clarke.” He said.


	9. Chapter 9

It was two o’clock when Octavia popped her head in to tell Clarke that Hawk was here for her. Clarke had been lounging on the couch, trying to relax by making another attempt at reading the same book she had been reading the night before. She had almost made it to the end of the second page by sounding everything out. She grabbed her sheets of paper and headed downstairs. The tea had had a noticeable impact on her knee, as well as some effect on her general soreness. 

Hawk was waiting for her patiently at the door. She bowed politely but didn’t move. Clarke remembered her hesitance to turn her back on Clarke, so she just started out the door. Hawk followed at a respectful distance. Clarke kept walking until she reached a split. She turned to Hawk. The guardswoman indicated to the right.

“Where are we going?” Clarke asked.

“The small council’s meeting room.”

“How far away is it?”

“It’s in the Driftless Wing, on the border of the White Wing, the Crown’s private wing. On the north side of the palace. Not terribly far.” They came to a large hall with many doors leading off. Clarke stopped again and Hawk gestured to a corridor directly across the way. “We came from the Freyna Wing, where esteemed guests stay.”

“And I will be meeting with the entire Small Council?” 

“I believe so.”

“Will I be waiting for them to gather once I arrive?”

“Not at all. They have already gathered for your convenience.”

“So a group of the most important people in the country are waiting on me, on us, to get there. We would move faster if you just lead me there.” Clarke glanced back just in time to see Hawk’s face twitch in what might have been a brief smile.

“As you wish, Wanheda.” She picked up her pace and walked the rest of the way in front. They made the rest of the way in silence.

The Small Council’s meeting room was near the room she had met Roan in the night before, as it turned out. The door was open, waiting for her when she arrived. The room itself was similar to the other one too, though the burgundy on the walls was more of a dark brown and the windows overlooked a courtyard instead of looking outward. The room wasn’t huge, but the tall ceiling made it feel more like a hall. There was a long table in the center, with eight large high backed chairs. Roan sat at the head of the table. He stood when Clarke entered. The other six people - three on each side of the table - followed suit. Hawk bowed herself out and the door closed.

Roan was dressed casually, wearing what he had been that morning. His undyed cotton shirt was plain and loose and his pants and shoes were worn. The only weapon he wore was his belt knife. 

“Wanheda. Welcome to the Small Council. Today will be the first of many meetings to come.” He gestured for Clarke to sit in the remaining chair at the foot of the table, directly across from him. He had a formality about him that Clarke hadn’t seen before. When Clarke sat, the entire Council sat as one. It was disconcerting. 

There was a shuffling of papers and a clearing of throats before they started. Clarke took it as an opportunity to study the other six people at the table. Each one had intricate facial scars, but Clarke didn’t know enough about Ice Nation culture to know the significance of them. Roan started speaking again.

“Clarke, I present the council. This is Robit, of Huron, the Foreign Military advisor.” Robit was middle aged and gruff. He wore practical and sturdy armor, despite being in the middle of the palace. He sat directly on Roan’s right. “Thea, of Deartroit, the Domestic military advisor.” Thea was on Robit’s right, in the middle of the table. She was older than him, probably by a few decades, but was dressed similarly. “Maren, of the Desert Clan, the Cultural advisor.” He continued down the line. Maren was sitting directly to Clarke’s left and Clarke gave her a once over. She had no idea where Huron or Deartroit were, so she could only assume that they were places within the Ice Nation. The Desert Clan was hundreds of miles east of here, on the coast. They, like most other clans, had a history of warring with Azgenda. Clarke wondered what a foreign national was doing on a small council.

“Blix, of the Snow, religious and legal council.” Roan moved on down the line. Blix was, by far, the youngest councilor, probably the only one under thirty five. He had the kind of youthful face that could have been seventeen or twenty seven, though Clarke was thought he was somewhere in the middle. His scars extended down his face to his neck and bare chest. He sat on Clarke’s right. “Meana, of Belman, financial advisor.” Meana was also older, maybe ten years older than Abby, and strikingly pretty. “And Ren, of Airidge, agriculture and trade.” She sat to Roan’s left. Each member gave Clarke a respectful nod as she looked at them in turn.

“Shall we commence?” Maren asked, looking first at Clarke and then at Roan. They both nodded. 

“And so begins,” Blix said, standing up and speaking as if he was reciting, “negotiations for a permanent alliance and subsequent merge of the two people’s of the Ice Nation and the Sky People. This merge will be officiated by a ceremony, which will bind our peoples together in blood and bone for centuries to come.”

Clarke’s gut twisted at the words, imagining the first time she had been bound to Roan with ropes and wire. “Negotiations will be easy enough.” She said confidently. The councilors looked at her with varying degrees of surprise on their faces. Blix was the most visibly startled. He looked like he was going to say something more, but looked at Roan and sat back down. “I have conditions which must be met. I have your king’s word that they will be met. They are the only terms that I or my people care about. If they are not met, then there is no deal and we will find sanctuary elsewhere.” Both Blix and Maren were writing as she spoke.

“Let’s hear these terms.” Roan said. He was leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table. 

“Complete freedom of my people. They come and go as they wish, do as they wish, and live as they wish. My people feel like prisoners. They need to be let to roam.”

“After the ceremony, Skaikru will be Azgedan. Our laws will apply to them equally and fully, but within that constraint, they will have freedom. Before then, they will be allowed to roam with supervision. They must be under the eye of one of my people for our safety as well as their own. It is a distinct possibility that someone may attempt to destroy our alliance before it even starts. And your people aren’t well known for being trustworthy.”

Clarke took a breath. “Agreed. Skaikru will need their own space where their privacy will be respected.”

“Agreed.”

“Azgeda will aid in the search for missing Skaikru. There were a total of twelve stations. Nine tried to make it to the ground. Not all of them are accounted for. While it’s unlikely that all of them are alive, there may be as many as five hundred Skaikru still out there.”

“Agreed.”

“This extends to the Skaikru who are accounted for, but not here. When we fled, we left people behind. Seven that I know of. Possibly more. We need those people back.”

“Agreed.” 

“Ice Nation will build positive diplomatic relations with the other clans and avoid war unless absolutely necessary. This is especially applicable to the Woods clan. They have been close allies to us despite suffering massive casualties at the hands of Skaikru. We owe them much and the least we can give them is protection.”

“Protection from?”

“Arkadia. The people there are the worst of us. They are the most violent and vicious and cruel of us and they have already killed hundreds of innocent Trikru out of anger. Trikru warriors have been devastated by Skaikru actions.”

“Agreed, then.”

Clarke took a deep breath. None of the advisors had said a word since she had started, but those were the easy ones. She focused on Roan, pretending that it was just the two of them. “I am not your political pawn. I am not your thing, to be shown off to demonstrate how powerful you are. You have no power over me. You have no control over me. If you violate these terms, your life is forfeit.” The military advisors both jerked at this, ready to interrupt, but Roan put up a hand to still them. “I will kill you, and take the throne for myself and my people.” The councilors were angry now. Robit was blusteringly mad and the agricultural advisor barked out a laugh. Roan held up his hand again and they stopped.

“We will be equals. You will hold a position in Azgedan court, and with that position comes power and duty over my people. It will require certain commitments. You will owe fealty to this country. You will not owe it to me, but to the people. This includes certain duties. You will need to attend council meetings. You will need to be seen at celebrations and festivals, preside over high trials and executions. These are duties that cannot be avoided. Beyond that, I will have no sway over your life.” Roan said calmly, as if he was prepared for it.

“Agreed.”

“Do you have any more conditions?”

“I do not.” Clarke said. 

“Now for mine. Your people will share their knowledge with ours. The masters will take apprentices. They will write books about your technology. They will spread out far and wide to share it with the country.”

“We will share most of our knowledge, but you have to understand that some ideas don’t deserve to survive. The world was once very different, Roan. And then it was destroyed. Burned in a fire so strong it turned an entire city into a desert. That’s what the dead zone is. It used to be a city bigger and more beautiful than Polis, and now it’s nothing but death. That technology deserves to die, Roan. We have no qualms about teaching you how to heal, or communicate over long distances, or build better and stronger houses, but we won’t teach you how to end the world.”

Roan nodded. “We can accept that.”

“Is that all?”

“Our oaths. At the ceremony we must swear to rule and protect, fight and die for each other’s people as much as we would for our own.” 

“When will the it take place?”

Roan looked over at Blix. 

“It is traditional for these types of things to take place on a full moon. The next one is in two weeks. We will be hard pressed to get ready in time, but it can be done. Meana and I can plan it, unless either of you have specific requests.” The younger man said.

“I do not.” Clarke said.

“Neither do I.” Roan said. “So it seems we are done for the day. The official treaty will be written tonight. We can meet again tomorrow to sign it. In the meantime, I would suggest selecting your personal guard. Some of your own people who can fight well and are loyal beyond a shadow of a doubt to you. They will work in conjunction with the King’s Guard, but answer exclusively to you. No one, not even me, can give them an order.” Clarke nodded, running through a list in her head of experienced guards. “There is one more request, though.” He said almost as an afterthought. “Seeing as how you will be one of us, it would stand to reason that you should know more about us.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Education. That every day, from now until the ceremony, a scholar of good repute teaches you about our customs and culture. It would make the transition easier.”

“I can do that.” Clarke said. 

“Then that is all for today.” He said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot to update today :/  
> Negotiations weren't so bad, now were they? This chapter feels shorter than it is, for some reason.  
> Please comment and let me know your thoughts!


	10. Chapter 10

“Over already?” Hawk and a few other guards were waiting on the other side of the door.

“How do I leave?” Clarke asked. Hawk just looked very, very confused.

“Which way leads outside? To a courtyard, or the gardens, or whatever. Just outside. With trees and sunlight.”

“This way.” Hawk was still puzzled, but she started walking anyways. She lead down the way they had originally come, but turned left instead of right at the next hallway. This time the path seemed straightforward. They just kept moving ahead until they reached another set of double doors. A guard opened them and suddenly, wonderfully, Clarke was outside.

The sun was bright and the sky was blue and the grass was green and no more than three hundred feet away was a forest. She set off towards it at once. Hawk, in some wonderful stroke of wisdom, did not follow. Clarke walked and walked. She reached the edge of the trees and kept going until she could no longer see the green field, then walked some more. Suddenly, amongst the other lesser trees, an oak emerged, an ancient gnarled thing with a trunk the size of a car. Its roots jutted out of the ground in twists and knots. Clarke settled down between these roots, nestling herself among the dead leaves and moss, curling up. Then and only then did she cry. She cried for the people she left behind, who very well may be dead already, for the future of her people that she couldn’t predict or control, and for her own future, which seemed harder to manage every second. Mostly, though, she cried for Lexa. She had loved Lexa deeply, however briefly. She had had the strength and presence that had made Clarke feel, for the first time since her father’s death, that she didn’t have to do it alone.

The sobs wracked her body and she began to cough with the strain. She missed Lexa so much. Before Lexa, she had had Bellamy. Before Bellamy, there was Finn. Before Finn it had been Welles, and before him it had been her father. But none of them had compared to Lexa. Clarke had made her own decisions, sure, and had been responsible for the repercussions, but at least she had a shoulder to lean on.

The tears stopped as abruptly as they had started. She was done crying. She wasn’t done being alone, though. So she sat in her little crook of the giant tree with nothing but herself and the wind. She looked at her watch, trying to calculate how much time she would have before Hawk came looking. This might be the last time she got to be alone in the foreseeable future. She started picking at the dirt. It was made of leaves. Not fresh soft leave or crisp dry one, but bits and pieces that fell apart with a touch. These leaves had been sitting here, undisturbed, for at least one winter, probably many more. They were rotten and bug eaten. There was a beauty and simplicity to it. The tree grows leaves, which fall, decompose, and feed the tree again. She thought, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, that the ground was where life was meant to be.

She stood up and brushed herself off. Her eyes were dry and the salt flaked off of her cheeks easily enough. She wiped her fingertips off on her shirt before probing around her eyes. They didn’t feel puffy or sensitive anymore. She figured she was probably good to go.

Hawk was waiting for her exactly where she had left her. The tall woman opened the door for her and the both walked in. They passed the guards in silence. Once down the hall a bit, Hawk attempted polite conversation.

“How did you like the Quiet Forest, Wanheda?” She asked.

“It was beautiful. Is it well traveled?”

“There are paths through it. Most start at one end and follow the wall.”

“The wall? I didn’t see a wall.”

“The forest is part of the palace grounds. As such, it is entirely within the palace wall. The wall is shorter in the back. It’s built to be the same height as the trees. The towers stick up, though.” Clarke now understood why Hawk hadn’t bothered to follow her. “Would you like a tour of the palace before you return to your people, Wanheda?”

“No. That can wait. I need to talk to my people.”

 

* * *

 

When they reached the atrium, the Freyna wing, there was a line of servants waiting at attention outside of the door. One of them, an older woman, stepped forward.

“Wanheda. We were told you wished for guides to the palace grounds. We are here to serve.” She said.

“Thank you. My people will be out shortly.” Clarke said, then went inside.

People were milling about, but for the most part the atrium was close to empty. The Miller’s were sitting at the bottom of the steps, talking. Clarke waved them over.

“Could you help me gather people? It’s time for a talk.” The men both nodded. David went to the top floor to knock on doors while Nathan did the second and Clarke took care of the first. Soon enough all Skaikru were gathered on around. Clarke stood in the middle of the stairs so that she could be seen and heard easily.

“Negotiations have gone well. We each stated our terms and they have all been agreed to. Tomorrow we will sign the treaty. In two weeks, there will be a ceremony to merge our peoples. We will be Azgedan under their laws, and subject to them equally.” There was a murmur through the crowd. People were not particularly fond of that idea. “But we will still be Skaikru and have our autonomy. I know this is not what some of you expected, but we need a clan. This gives us opportunities that we couldn’t get any other way. We’ll be part of the coalition permanently and have all of the protections that come with it. Ice Nation can be our home. We can make it our home.”

“What’s the cost? Ice Nation is opportunistic. They don’t give without taking.” Someone - one of the engineers? - called out.

“Knowledge. Medicine. Part of the negotiations include that our scientists and doctors take on students.”

“And weapons? The Mountain is dead. The superstition about guns won’t last long now that they’re gone.”

“We didn’t talk about guns specifically, but King Roan agrees that some technological secrets deserve to stay secret.”

“So you didn’t talk to him about guns, but you’re ready to sign treaties? And since when does Ice Nation honor treaties?”

“Enough!” Called Lincoln. “Either you trust Clarke or you don’t. Queen Nia broke every vow she made for the sake of more power. She’s dead. Clarke knows this king better than anyone here. So either stay and follow her lead or return to Arkadia or try your luck with a different clan. Your chances of being taken in are low. Right now the Skaikru have a reputation as bad as the Azgedans. Azgeda may not be rich, but it is massive and strong. They can afford both the attention that you bring and the resources that you consume. If you want to live, not just survive but actually live, here is where you do it.”

The crowd was quiet after that. Everyone knew Lincoln, including his reputation for kindness and generosity, but many people had never spoken to him directly. Some had never even heard him speak at all. Clarke was glad that she had talked to him about the importance of keeping people in line.

“How do we know that he’s going to keep his word? What makes you trust him?” Someone else asked.

“Roan puts a lot of stock in oaths. Once he makes one, he won’t be the one to break it. But if we break it first, then all bets are off. Which is why we need to keep out of trouble.” She spoke definitively and without doubt. Clarke figured mentioning the death threat wasn’t going to inspire her people to trust him more. “Any more questions?” Her voice turned to steel. Now was not the time for more questions.

The crowd stood silent and quivering, not ready to disperse but no one person ready to keep talking. Eventually, Sinclair spoke up.

“When do we get to leave?” He asked from the front of the crowd. “This is a palace. There must be tons to do, places to see and explore. Are we going to be stay here until the ceremony?”

“No. There are servants outside right now to show you around the palace. I wouldn’t expect to be allowed to wander freely so soon, and there are places that are off limits, but we can come and go as we please. But remember, from their perspective, we are a large group of mostly unknown people who have a history of violence and brutality towards them. They do not take threats lightly. Tread carefully. Do not give them reason to distrust you.” Clarke stopped talking and looked out over her people, waiting for something, anything. She looked for people she hadn’t spoken to since leaving Arkadia. Monty was in a far corner by himself, still mourning leaving Jasper and his mother behind. Dr. Jackson stood next to Abby and Harper. Clarke nodded to herself and started down the stairs again. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then Sinclair and Harper started up the stairs towards the door and nearly everyone followed. Within minutes, the amount of time it took Clarke to find her way to the chair next to where Raven was still sitting, the atrium was nearly empty.

“Well that’s one way to clear a room.” Raven said. Clarke laughed. “So does that mean that you trust them more than they trust you? If it’s so important that we don’t give them a reason to mistrust us?” Abby, Octavia, and Lincoln sat down next to them.

“No, it means that I trust Roan and Roan trusts me. But until the deal is done, we need to entertain the possibility that some people may not want this deal to happen.”

“So sabotage. As in they try to kill you, or kill someone else and blame us for it?” Abby asked.

“No idea, but it would to an oversight to not try and guard against it. Roan has guards at all major doors, and there will be the guides. I don’t want people to panic, but I also want them to be careful.”

“We’re in the middle of enemy territory. People are already one step away from panic.” Octavia said. “If there’s no immediate evidence of a threat, there’s no need to scare people.” Clarke could only nod.

“Well, I, for one, would like to see some green. Who’s with me?” Raven said, looking at Abby. Abby almost nodded, but grabbed Clarke’s hand. Clarke shrugged.

“I’m probably going to take another nap. There’s some beautiful gardens near the southern side.” She said. Abby leaned over to kiss her forehead.

“Rest up. I’ll see you later.” The older woman said. Raven wiggled to her feet and they left together.

“As for restricted zones, are we allowed in the military areas? I’d like to get a look at their training yards.” Octavia said.

“Only one way to find out.” Clarke said. Octavia shrugged, grabbed Lincoln by the shirt, and headed towards the door. Somehow Clarke ended up in the little library again. She was starting to enjoy struggling through a language that she didn’t fully understand.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day was uneventful, thankfully. People came and went freely. The evening meal was brought around seven. The doors were shut for the night about two hours later. It wasn’t quite early enough for everyone to go to bed, so Lincoln and Octavia moved the tables to the sides of the room and started sparring. It was nothing dramatic or particularly exciting, but it occupied the group’s attention until people started drifting off in ones and twos to bed. Finally, it was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I love about Clarke is how she shows emotions even though she's hella strong. If you enjoy it, or maybe have some constructive feed back, I would love to hear it!


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Clarke’s second full day in Pensa, was quiet too, more or less. Clarke woke feeling decent. Not great, but not as bad as the day before. She and Abby went down to breakfast together. The tables had been pushed back into their original long line sometime during the early morning and restocked. Clarke had just sat down when Octavia and Lincoln started to come down the stairs. She hopped up and walked over to them.

“Hey,” She started. “So did you find the training grounds yesterday?”

“We did.” Lincoln said. “They were decent, but nothing special. We were... politely encouraged to not wonder, though.”

“That will change. But here’s the thing. Roan said I will need guards. Personal guards, who I know and trust. I was wondering if you two would be okay with it?”

“What’s in it for us?” Octavia said. Lincoln elbowed her.

“We’ll do it.” He said.

“Thanks. I don’t really know what it’s going to entail, though. I’m planning on asking the Millers, too.”

The Millers also agreed readily. Nathan suggested that Bryan also be made a guard, but David thought it would be too much too soon. Clarke said she would consider it when they knew more about what exactly the guards position was. She finally sat down to eat as most people were getting up and heading towards the door again. As the steady stream of people left, Blix squeezed his way in between them.

“Wanheda.” He said when he made it down to the bottom floor. Clarke finished chewing the food in her mouth before greeting him in return. “With your permission, I will be showing you around the Palace.”

“Of course.” She said, looking him over. She wondered if he ever wore a shirt. Right now he only had on a long skirt, showing intricate scars leading all the way down his torso. He was also barefoot showing feet that were scarred too. Maybe it was a priest thing, assuming he was actually a priest of some kind. 

Clarke scarfed down the rest of her plate quickly and they left together.

“They tell me you speak our language.” He said.

“ _ Enough to get by _ .” She said, switching to Trigedasleng.

“ _ Well let’s start there _ .” He responded in kind.

They spend the next few hours wandering around the palace, casually exploring the wings and halls, learning which were main paths and places she would need to know and which hallways would take her from well traveled area to well traveled area, as well as the smaller splinter hallways. All along the way they made casual conversation in Trigedasleng. 

The palace could be split into six pieces, roughly speaking. There were five wings between the East, West, and North sides. The South side, which was made up of several halls, galleries, gardens, and the like, was generally more public than the rest of the palace. The building itself was at the northernmost end of the city, which made the northern wings, the White Wing and the Driftless Wing, the most private. The Driftless Wing was the executive wing, for lack of a better word. It was filled with offices, records, accounts, and information. All day to day aspects of running a kingdom that spanned thousands of miles came from this wing. She would learn a lot about it, Blix told her.

The White Wing was the royale wing, she already knew. It was utterly private. She found that out when the guards who stood at the entrance searched her, very much unimpressed by who she was. She wouldn’t have been allowed in at all if Blix hadn’t been there, Wanheda or no. They wore the same insignia as Hawk. King’s Guard, Blix explained. Clarke asked if her guard would be expected to stand at attention with them or if they would have more freedom. Blix told her that her guard would do whatever it was that she wanted them to do. 

The White Wing was bigger than she had expected. Seeing as how so few people lived here, she assumed it would be nothing more than a few extravagant sets of rooms. It was more like a smaller, more secluded palace inside the regular palace. There was a servants quarters, small barracks for the guards, library, kitchen, armory, and even a training grounds just outside near the private gardens. 

The main hallway was a great domed corridor with four double doors leading off of it. The door closest to them was Roans. The door across from it was being made up for Clarke and would be ready in a day or two. The other two were currently empty. Clarke didn’t particularly care to see them all, so they left out the way they had come. 

There were another three wings, Blix continued as they wandered through the Driftless. There was the Freyna, where Clarke and the Skaikru were currently staying. It was the smallest wing, meant for only as a temporary measure for them until other accommodations could be made. Then there was the Supana. It was the residential wing, where the long term residents of the palace lived, like scholars, high ranking military officers, and a smattering of nobles who prefered to live at court. Some of the larger, unoccupied suites were already being converted to sets of individual rooms so that the Skaikru could be moved out of the Freyna and have their own space. It was complicated, he explained, because the order had been given weeks ago when they hadn’t known for sure how many Skaikru would be coming, and even though the Supana was enormous, it simply wasn’t possible for each Skaikru to have their own suite. He assured Clarke that they would each have their own room, but that they would have to share living spaces. Clarke had to wonder just how big it was if it only took a bit of rearranging to find nearly seventy rooms as such short notice.

The last wing was the Mal. It was the military wing. Anything and everything having to do with the war and defense was located there. There were barracks’, armories, smithies, quarters for middle or lower officers, libraries dedicated to military history, strategy, and tactics. There were training grounds and a school, stables, and what was the closest thing to a medical facility they had. Clarke looked forward to exploring it when she had the time.

Somehow, the two of them ended up at the door to the small council’s room as Blix finished talking about the Mal. The door was open and the council was milling about inside. Clarke took a second to admire Blix’s ability to time things before walking in for the day’s meeting.

Again, everyone waited until Clarke sat to seat themselves. There were two stacks of paper in front of her chair, one in English and one in Trigedasleng. She thumbed through the English one. It was the amended copy of the alliance. She was impressed by its thoroughness. There were provisions detailing laws that would be enacted at the time of the ceremony. As soon as it was over, all Skaikru outside of Arkadia would be citizens of Azgeda and subject to the laws, privileges, and protections that that brought. The phrasing, be it on purpose or accident, implied that it could also be applied to Arkadians who strayed too far from home. The potential ramifications intrigued her.

She kept reading, taking her time, until she had finished every word front to back. Then she reached for the pen in front of Blix and signed next to Roan’s name. It was easier than she had thought it would be. She set down the pen and looked at Roan. His face was as impassive as usual. 

“Now, as for the plans,” Meana said. The rest of the meeting went by easily. Blix and Meana talked out the general idea. Clarke kept waiting for Maren to join in, as the cultural advisor, but she was quiet. Roan was also quiet.

It was decided that the ceremony would take place in a manner that was traditional. Clarke did not know what that entailed, other than being on the full moon. Invitations would be sent out that day, so as to give nobles as much time as possible to prepare for the trip. 

Blix explained to her later as he walked her back to the Freyna that even though the Azgedans may not care about this ceremony quite as much, it was going to be even bigger and more well attended than the Coronation had been. Roan’s coronation had been somewhat of a shotgun coronation. He had been back in the capitol for less than two weeks when it took place and it had been attended by friends, representatives, and second sons of his lords rather than the lords themselves. Most of them were already in the process of making their way to the capital already to swear fealty to the new king in person. 

Clarke had been told that she would need an emblem, a crest of some kind, to be emblazoned on her guards uniforms and on her signet ring. The design of it was completely up to her, though she felt like she should keep the symbols that the Azgedans used in mind when designing it. And so, in the little library in the Freyna, with Blix at her side and several illustrated books about scarification that she could barely read, she started to sketch. By the time the evening meal was brought, she had chosen to incorporate a crescent moon shape representative of the sky, three seven pointed stars for both the sky and also brightness and longevity, the crown for leader, all overlaid on an outline of wings for freedom and death. The ring would be made in white gold. The last had been Blix’s suggestion. White was the Azgedan color of mourning. She looked over her charcoal drawing with approval, then made a second one quickly to give to Blix. He would take it to the Mal to have it made for her. 

The Skaikru en masse would also need a symbol, just as all other clans had theirs, but Clarke didn’t feel it was up to her to design it alone. She would mention it to her people over dinner and see if anyone felt like making it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11! Just so you readers know, I am overjoyed by every comment. My personal life is hell and everyone I know is crazy and in need of serious help, myself included, but at least I have writing. I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read this.   
> Also! If you feel like branching out and checking out another fandom, I posted a work for Frontier, which is a Netflix show and genuinely one of the worst TV shows I have ever enjoyed, if anyone's interested in giving that a try.


	12. Chapter 12

On day three it was Maren who came for Clarke. She had a girl with her. With the first of her personal guard selected, it was time for them to get their armor made. She sent Lincoln, Octavia, and the Millers off with the child to be fitted in the Mal. Maren and Clarke went to the gardens and started a crash course on all things Azgeda. Clarke knew that she would need to learn little bits of culture, art, geography, history, inter- and intra-clan politics, noble houses of note, and the structure of the military. The focus of the day was military ranks and numbers. There were five armies, each with it’s own makeup and leaders. Four were stationed along the borders of the country, while one was kept in the middle, each with their own General. Each one broke up into smaller, more agile groups that could be spread out. Next came their names.

Clarke hoped silently that she would be able to remember at least half of what Maren was saying. Maren told her that appropriate books would be brought to her study. She would need to memorize maps and illustrations of house emblems, medals, and scarifications. The entire day they spoke in nothing but Trigedasleng.

They stopped at the Freyna in the early afternoon for lunch, then left again. Eventually they made their way to the Mal. Maren explained that as a renowned warrior, Clarke would need her own armor for the ceremony. The armorers, an old woman, a middle aged woman, and a young man who all had the same ramrod straight nose and ringleted hair, were polite but brisk. They asked what Clarke’s preference in armor was, if she liked soft leather or hard leather, metal rings sewn into it or cotton padding. Did she mind if it was heavy for better protection, or did she prefer light armor for better movement? Clarke told them that she didn’t have much experience with their types of armor, but she prefered lightweight for increased mobility. They gave her a few basic options. Clarke tried on several basic forms and decided that she liked the sleeveless jerkins paired with bracers better than the full cover of a longsleeved jerkin. The metal rings sewn into the inside added weight, but they were spaced out enough that it didn’t impede her. Her pants were thicker, with three slightly overlapping pleats of sturdy leather to cover her thighs and two for her calves, leaving the inside of her legs relatively unprotected. They also fitted her for a helmet, though that was strictly for practicality and would not be part of the ceremonial garb. They whisked the armor off of her once they knew her preferences and sizes. They would be spending the next week decorating it to make it worthy of the Wanheda. 

Next came a robe. It was velvet, she thought. The blue was stunning. It was a robe made to intimidate. Clarke didn’t want to try it on, but she did. It was full sleeved with buttons that looked like bone running from her waist to her neck. The man tugged and tweaked it to make it lay flat, then got on his knees to pin up the bottom so it hung just above her toes. It was long, but when she moved the front flowed open to create a dramatic flaring silhouette. There were certain events where it would be considered rude to openly wear armor, so she would need something else. Clarke didn’t particularly care how they decorated any of it.

With the fittings done, Clarke decided to look around the Mal. She had been through most of the palace except for this wing. Maren followed a polite distance behind while Clarke explored. She was just about getting ready to head back to her people when she came across an old gallery. The walls were lined with outfits, mostly armor but also a variety of clothes, some fancy and some plain. Very little looked new. Some had very visible signs of wear, such as holes in the torso or torn sleeves. Others were in better condition. Clarke couldn’t figure out why they were significant, but she was infinitely curious about it. She approached them more closely. They weren’t sectioned off or protected in any way, just pinned to the wall. When she got closer she noticed the plaque. It was a dull iron square nailed to the wall below the dangling cap. All it said was 

GRANDAL

2142-2158-2178

with a rough etching of a man’s face. 

Clarke looked back up at the leather jerkin. There was a small hole the size of her thumb below where his sternum would have been. The leather was otherwise in good condition. It looked dried with age, but still thick and sturdy. The hole had been punched through roughly, leaving frayed edges behind. If Clarke had to guess, she would say it was made by an arrow. She turned to the other outfits. The damage became more obvious as her mind put the pieces together. A dress missing a sleeve, the fabric cut smoothly at the top but torn roughly at the bottom. A sword moved quickly on the downward swing but slower as it met the flesh and bone of the arm that had been inside, tearing the fabric instead of cutting it. The plaque read

RAIN

2119-2151-2159

Clarke turned to Maren.

“Who died in these clothes?” She asked.

“Past monarchs. Roan’s ancestors. The first year is the year they were born. The second is the year they took the throne, and the third is the year they died. A cheery thought, I know. My first time in here was… interesting.”

“You’re from Desert Clan.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am, yes.”

“How does a Sankru end up a cultural advisor for an Azgedan king?”

“How do two Trikru who ended up on the wrong side of the Heda resurface in the Azgedan capital, ready to serve?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Because I protect them. How long have you known Roan?”

“Since his first banishment.”

“How many times was he banished?”

“Twice. Once when he was barely a man, which lasted a year. He was young and wild and foolish. His mother hoped to teach him a lesson. He learned it too well. He was banished again four years ago. He probably would have been banished long before that if he had spent more than a week each year with his mother.”

“What did she have against him?”

“At first? He was too soft. He could fight, sure, but he lacked other essential attributes of a proper warrior. If he couldn’t be a true warrior, then he certainly couldn’t be a king. So she banished him. He toughened up fast enough, but he also learned the life of a scavenger. He came back more sympathetic to his warriors than to the wars they were fighting. Nia was ruthless, and had been a terror with a blade in her youth, but she had never fought on the front lines of her own wars. So when he returned, Roan joined her military in what might be called a hands on way. He became a people's Prince. Until the day he challenged his mother on her tactics of sacrificing large numbers of soldiers for a win.”

Clarke listened intently to this version on Roan while vividly remembering him cut down three Azgedan soldiers with nothing more than an exasperated sigh. The story made him sound like a misunderstood man just trying to do his best for his people. It was perfectly tailored to Skaikru moralities of sacrifice. No doubt there was some truth to it, but just how much was genuinely accurate and how much was exaggerated or embellished was impossible to tell. Clarke was, however, very much more curious now about two things. Firstly, why did Maren want Clarke to think well of Roan so badly? Secondly;

“How did you know about Lincoln? I never told you his name. He never said it. He’s private about it. And how could you have known he was the one with the kill order? His likeness was never distributed. The order was given to Trikru, who already knew what he looked like.”

Maren seemed a little surprised by this question, but regained her composure fast enough. “I pay attention.” She said.

“You pay attention to what, exactly?”

“Everything.”

Clarke nodded, and they walked back. Maren was Roan’s Spymaster.

 

* * *

 

Her fourth day was a variation only in that fewer things happened. Blix came for her again and, rather than wander the palace, they went to a library in the Mal. They were looking at maps that day. There was only one map of all of Azgeda. It was large and rough and not particularly detailed. The smaller maps were much better, with more detail and many of the cities, towns, and military forts that were the focus of the day. Blix and Clarke talked, in Trigedasleng, for hours about the different locations and the terrain that made up different areas. Southwestern Azgeda was primarily plains, and there was some swamp land in the north east, but most of it was forested. Lunch was brought to them while they studied and they continued on uninterrupted until nearly dinner time. When they finally walked back, Clarke’s head was swimming with images and details about countrysides she would probably never visit. She made polite conversation about nothing in particular with Blix until they made it to the Freyna, when she said, quite in passing and with no real inflection, “Roan must be busy now, with the arrangements for my people. It’s a shame to not see more of him, though.”

An hour later, when she was sitting between her mother and Raven and fighting with Octavia over one slice of roast lamb in particular, Hawk in her Kings Guard uniform arrived to tell her that her rooms in the White Wing were complete, should she wish to move in that evening, and if she did, His Majesty would be honored to invite Wanheda to his morning training. Clarke accepted both offers, and told Lincoln and Octavia, who would be living in her suite with her, to gather what few things they had. By night they had moved into a suite of rooms nearly as large as the entire residential section of Arkadia. It was one door down from Roan’s.

Stepping into her new quarters for the first time felt instantly alien. She had no practical purpose for this much space. There was a room for sitting, a room for eating, a room for her bed, a room for her guards, a room for studying, a room for lounging, even an entire room for her clothes and armor. She wondered if she should move her mother in too, so that it would be a little less empty. 

That night, as Clarke lay awake in her new, considerably larger and considerably more empty bed, she thought about the next few days. She was glad that it had been so easy to get Roan’s attention, and it spoke well of his desire to keep her included. She didn’t really want to spend her little free time with him rather than her friends, but she needed to get better at understanding him. His face wasn’t utterly unreadable and he didn’t exactly go far and away to hide things, but he was a far shot from communicative. Besides, she thought, she sure as shit could use some combat training from a proper warrior. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I do love me some comments. If you have any thoughts or questions about this story and where it's going, I would love to hear them and maybe try and give a spoiler-free reply, if I have the mental energy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I write and publish this story, I am learning more about my own weaknesses as a writer, such as focusing too much on one character (ei Clarke) and world building rather than pacing and relationships, which is the goal. I am working on changing the way I come at my writing to address these issues, as well as doing things like switching up the POV. I have already rewritten a few upcoming chapters to reflect this. Hopefully y'all will enjoy the changes.

Clarke woke up early the next morning, ringing in her fifth morning in Azgeda with excitement and a little dread at the idea of training with Roan and his warriors. She and Lincoln made their way to the training yard, with Octavia electing to stay behind and do exercises by herself. Roan and Hawk were already there warming up. Clarke had to think that, by her estimation, Roan had at least a dozen Kings Guards, yet Hawk was everywhere, clearly the favorite. She also was the first to notice Clarke.

“Wanheda.” She said, bowing low. 

“Clarke.” Roan greeter her when she got closer. “How do you like your rooms?”

Clarke was more than a little amused by Roan’s attempt at small talk. “They’re… large. On the Ark, every inch was a luxury. To have so many rooms with so little purpose just seems excessive.” She started stretching out, like Lexa had taught her to do before training.

“They’re your rooms. If you want to change them, just speak to Meana. She can have it taken care of.”

It was immeasurably strange to talking about something so petty as interior decorating with him. It occurred to her that they had never had a conversation that wasn’t about some imminent problem and its possible solutions. There was going to be some awkward times in the coming years of partnerships. 

“Your people are not known for their physical strength. How much training in practical combat do you have?” Hawk asked. Clarke liked her bluntness.

“Not much. Lexa taught me some, but we didn’t have much time.” She said it casually, like she wasn’t referencing one of the most devastating experiences in her short but calamitous life. 

“Then we can start with basics. I will show you.” And just like that they were paired off. Roan and Lincoln stepped aside, out of the way as they unleashed brutality on each other. Lincoln was stronger than Roan, but not as fast. Roan moved like a forest cat, smooth lines and quick, violent strikes. Lincoln held his own for a while, but kept taking more hits than he was giving. 

Clarke wanted to watch more closely, but Hawk didn’t give her the opportunity. The older woman was a violent teacher. Clarke was fast for someone of her experience, sure, but that didn’t mean anything when facing a warrior like Hawk. Her greatest strength was being able to surprise her opponent when least expected, but the woman wasn’t nearly stupid enough to take her eyes off of Clarke for a second. Every strike, dodge, and block she tried was sloppy and weak. She couldn’t read her opponent’s body language, she had terrible form, and her balance was mediocre at best. Hawk, to her great credit, seemed to have endless patience for readjusting Clarke’s stance and positioning. This didn’t stop Clarke from hitting the ground nearly a dozen times in twenty minutes. On the eleventh time, Hawk was trying not to laugh. Clarke closed her eyes against the blue sky and evened out her breathing, letting herself take a minute before getting back up. When she opened her eyes, she saw all three of her companions looking down at her with a variety of amusement in their eyes. Roan offered her his hand. Clarke took it and pulled herself up slowly, leisurely, so as to not make herself feel more embarrassed by their staring. 

“Let me move you through it.” He said, though it was at least partially a question. Clarke nodded, and Roan moved closer and put his hands on her calves first, then her back, then her shoulders, then her arms, moving her into the same positions Hawk had been showing her. This time, though, when Hawk started moving, Roan’s hands stayed on her, helping her keep her balance and her feet under her. And just like that, Clarke felt her body shift in time with Hawks, felt her feet move out of the way while still staying under her, and watched as Hawk’s foot slid past her shoulder ellegantly before snapping back under her. It was done slowly, a mock attack so that Clarke could keep up, but she felt the difference all the same. They continued like that for a bit, with Hawk showing and Roan guiding. After about fifteen minutes a runner came for Lincoln with a summons from Abby and Hawk begged off, citing duties as a King’s Guard. Clarke made no comment about both of them leaving at the same time, only nodding at Lincoln when he glanced at her. 

Alone, Roan moved away from her, less inclined to invade her personal space without the presence of others. 

“We don’t know how to just  _ be  _ when we’re with each other. We know who to plan together, how to fight together, but we don’t know how to just, be allies.” Clarke pointed out.

“We’ll learn. Probably.” Roan said with his sense of gravel dry humor. “Though last time we spoke, you promised to kill me. It seems reasonable to give you some space to adjust.”

“Threatened. I threatened to kill you. And only if you don’t keep your word. And you agreed. Why?” It’s not that his actions didn’t make sense to her exactly, but she knew there were pieces missing out of her puzzle of information

“I agreed because it was your condition.” His face had morphed into an expression of polite confusion. It was too controlled and exact to be genuine. 

“You didn’t even hesitate. You signed a contract giving me the legal right to kill you with very little provocation. Why are you so desperate for this alliance to happen? Barely two weeks of planning? Really?”

“It it traditional for ceremonies like this to take place on a full moon.” He said evenly, still deflecting.

“It could have been next full moon. Believe me, Roan, I’m happy with it happening sooner. My people will be less restless once they feel like they have a place, but it’s not easy to plan something this big in such a short amount of time.”

Roan’s look of constructed confusion was gone, his face blank again. “You don’t know much about Azgedan succession.” It was said as a flat statement of fact. Clarke nodded anyways. “The crown can be passed however the monarch wants. Almost never outside of the royal family, because that could cause massive unrest and potentially civil war, but it is not inherently passed parent to child either. Each monarch creates a decree declaring their heir.”

Clarke could see where this was going. “You weren’t your mother’s heir.” She said, her stomach tightening.

“My mother didn’t have an heir. She revoked her decree when she banished me and never wrote a new one.”

“So you don’t have right to the throne, but neither does anyone else.”

“My right is in my blood and the fact that I was crowned by the Commander herself. She supported my right to reign. Her death weakened that reign considerably.” 

“And the new commander will probably support you, but the Conclave hasn’t taken place yet, and even then, they will be weak and untested. No one will respect and fear them they way they did Lexa. Not yet, at least. How does Skaikru fit into your plan?”

“Not Skaikru. Wanheda.”

“I’m not a god.”

“God or no, you fell from the sky, waged war with less than a hundred unskilled children, set fire to hundreds of the Commander’s best warriors, forged peace with that same Commander, and then killed the oldest and most dangerous faction of people in our history with no plan, no weapons, and almost no resources. Mortal or immortal is irrelevant. What is more terrifying, a god who could do all of that, or a human?”

“So you signed your life away to keep your crown.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “My crown is my life. Or do you think the first step of a coup wouldn’t be to wipe out everyone with a claim? Besides, your threat to kill me is purely to remind me not to fuck with you. You couldn’t manage the throne by yourself when you are so new to my country. You don’t have any knowledge, any allies. You and your people would be dead if you tried to take over so quickly. I’ll remember to step lightly a year down the road, though.” He said it with a twitch of his lip, which Clarke took to be his version of a smile. The knowledge that her new home wasn’t as safe as originally advertised washed over her. She was completely unsurprised. It was comforting, in it’s own weird way. She had known that there would be at least one catch, and now they had found it. Hopefully it was the only one.

“So, Your Majesty, who is your heir?” They were done with the training, it seemed. Clarke sat on a bench in the shade by the wall. It had a good view of the Silent Forest. Roan leaned against the wall a few steps away, but didn’t sit down.

“As of the ceremony, it will be you. Before then, or if we should die at the same time, it’s Hawk.”

“Hawk? Your guard? That seems counterintuitive.”

Roan chuckled. “She is my cousin. Being Queen is her worst nightmare. Think of it as her extra incentive to keep me alive.”

“She could always abdicate.” Clarke said. Skin and hair color aside, she could see the family resemblance. Hawk had the same high cheekbones and pointed nose and chin as Roan. Her eyes were blue too, though a darker shade than his. Clarke was a little surprised she hadn’t seen it herself.

“She wouldn’t. Like I said, the crown must be passed within the family. You don’t want to meet the rest of my cousins.”

“So she would suffer through being Queen to save everyone from a worse alternative.”

“But primarily do her absolute best to keep the both of us alive.”

“All in the name of familial love.”

Roan  snorted. “Blood is mostly symbolic among our kind. Hawk and I have a long history. We fought next to each other for almost a decade. Even after my banishment, we kept in contact. I trust her despite being blood, not because of it.”

“The concept of blood relatives is still strange to us. We just don’t have them. On the Ark, there was a strict one child policy. We didn’t have the resources to sustain a larger population. Imagine, generation after generation, we have our parents and grandparents, but no siblings, no cousins or aunts or uncles. Our families were families of choice. I had…” Clarke thought about how much she wanted to tell Roan. “I had Wells. He was the Chancellor's son. He came to the ground with us, but he didn’t survive more than a few days. He was the first person I loved that I had to bury down here.”

Roan nodded, but let the conversation lul. They watched together as an eagle of some sort swooped down on the field of grass that separated the building from the forest. The bird peeled away with something small and wiggling in its talons.

“Speaking of burying people,” Roan started. Clarke cocked her head at him. “Your people still in Arkadia.” Clarke had to be impressed by Roan’s ability to find the worst possible transition. “Do we have a plan for getting them out? My military is at your disposal, but I don’t know much about them.”

“I’m not even sure they’re still alive. Pike is violently unstable and unstably violent. He’s smart when he has to be, sure, but his response to anything is usually just to kill it. There was no solid proof that connects us to them, but he might have just killed anyone he felt was against him.”

“So that’s the worst case scenario. I assume it won’t stop you from trying.”

“No. But I do want to know more about what’s going on behind that wall before I act. The Woods Clan has been spying on them. At least, they were. And we need to send an envoy to Indra anyways. I’ll send Octavia and Lincoln. Can they use palace horses?” Roan nodded. ”If they leave around noon, they can make it by night tomorrow. As for Pike, I’m not sure. I don’t want things to get violent. If he hasn’t killed my people already, he would do it in a second with provocation.”

“You said he was smart, if not rational. What does he need? We could leverage his food crisis against him.”

“I feel like Pike would rather let his people starve than accept food for the Ice Nation, but it’s a place to start. I’ll see if I can get a message to my people inside.” The sun was inching higher and higher. It was past breakfast now and one of Roan’s people would be arriving for her lessons of the day. 

“I’m going to write a letter to Indra. Do you want to write one as well, or do I have enough standing yet to write it on my own?”

“Write what you like. I’ll stand behind it, within reason.” He said. They nodded respectfully and parted ways.


	14. Chapter 14

There was a tray sitting in Clarke’s living room, where she had requested it be put in the morning. The food was cold, but the tea was warm, so it couldn’t have been sitting there for too long. She nibbled at the pasty before heading to her desk. It was her favorite thing but these rooms. It was untreated cedar and made the entire room smell like a forest. The large top was made out of one single piece of wood, polished to a smooth finish. It also had a dozen drawers, kept fully stocked with all of the writing or drawing supplies she could need. 

Pulling out a fresh piece of paper, she started simple. She didn’t have much to tell Indra yet, only to promise continued friendship and assistance and to ask if the Woods people had noticed the Arkadians doing anything unexpected. Clarke wasn’t sure if Indra could read English, but Octavia would be there to translate if she couldn’t. Then she folded it up on itself and poured white wax over the lip and pressed her new signet ring into the malleable surface.

One of Clarke’s guards was to stay in the room adjacent to hers for as long as she was in her suite. She popped her head in and found Octavia sharpening her sword.

“Hey.” The warrior said without looking up.

“Hey. I have a letter for Indra. I was wondering if you and Lincoln could deliver it for me? You can use horses from the palace stables.”

“Sure. It’ll be nice to get out of this place for a while. When do we leave?” She put down her whetstone and picked up her cloth.

“Lunch time. With luck, you can get there by dusk tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. I’ll find Lincoln.” She held out her hand for the letter. Clarke gave it to her.

“Thank you.” She said. “I want Indra to know that we are still her friends. If she needs anything, we will be there.”

“I’ll make sure she knows.”

Clarke walked back into her suite and then out the door to the hallway. Blix was waiting for her already.

“So. What are we doing today?” Clarke asked.

“Palace layout and religious and cultural holidays.” He said with a smile.

 

* * *

 

They wandered for a few hours, Clarke leading this time, until they made it back to her rooms for lunch. Raven was waiting in Clarke’s sitting room flipping through one of her books on scarification. Lincoln had vouched for her at the entrance to the White Wing before he left. There were three trays on the table this time, still warm. After lunch they left again to roam some more, this time with Raven trudging along.

 

* * *

 

The next day was more of the same. She slept in her new bed and woke at dawn for practise with Roan and a few of his guards. Now that she knew about their relation, Clarke watched how Roan and Hawk interacted. She had never known someone with cousins before and she was curious as to how their relationship differed from that of the only pair of siblings she knew. In the globalized world, after industrialization but before the bombs, non-platonic relationships within even distant relatives was highly stigmatized. Before that, though, cousin marriages were often the norm. Clarke wondered where Azgedans fell. As far as she could tell, Roan was more friendly with Hawk than his other guards, but only just. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t her business. How close they were had no effect on her life beyond if Hawk was truly loyal to Roan and, tangentially, Clarke.

Clarke didn’t linger after practise. She stayed just long enough to tell Roan that her letter had been sent before retreating to her rooms for breakfast. Raven was already waiting for her.

“So I get what you’re up to, spending time with the higher ups, learn about the government and figure out how you’re going to fit in, but what about the rest of us? When do we get to start fitting in?” She said while eating some cherries.

“Excellent question. I haven’t talked much to Roan about it. They don’t want to rush us. I think the current idea is to integrate us after the ceremony, but we can change that. People are probably getting restless by now.” Clarke answered.

“Yeah. Wandering through the gardens is fun and all, but it gets boring after a day or two. When do I get my minions? I believe I was promised minions.”

“You were promised  _ students _ , who you will have to  _ teach _ .”

“Students, minions, same thing.” Raven said, tearing a roll in half and dunking it in herb oil. 

“I’ll send Roan a message asking if he has time to talk this afternoon.”

“Excellent. Make the minions work. Speaking of, shouldn’t you have servants flooding this place, awaiting your every whim?”

“No, that’s not - just, no.” Clarke shook her head as she took a bite of her eggs. “I told them I would let in the kitchen person for the meals and to refill my lamps, and a cleaner once a week to tidy up. I like my privacy.”

“Wow, we’ve been letting the cleaners in every day. It’s fun to climb into a freshly made bed without having to do it yourself.”

“I will believe that you know for to make a bed when you prove it.”

“You got me, it was always Finn who made the bed.” Raven said. Clarke laughed out loud at that before that trickled off and they were left with an empty silence. They were both thinking about Finn, and neither wanted to interrupt the other’s memory. They had, together, come to terms with the fact that they had both loved and been loved by the him, and the existence of each other did not lessen that. It was a shared loss that bound them together rather than pushed them apart.

They finished eating relatively quietly. There was more than enough food for the both of them, even though the day before Clarke had only had a single portion of food. The servants must be keeping an eye on who comes and goes in her room.

“So, when we walk out that door,” Raven said when she was done. “Is there going to be a half naked man waiting for you?”

“Probably. It might be someone else, though.”

“Well let’s test that.”

Clarke held the door open for Raven. In the hallway, waiting for them, was the half naked Blix. Raven glanced at Clarke just long enough for Clarke to see her quirked eyebrow before turning back to the man.

“I need a message sent to Roan. Is he still here?” Clarke asked.

“I believe he is in the Mal for the morning.”

“I’d like to send someone to invite him to eat with us when he’s done.”

“Of course.” Blix turned to the guard standing by Roan’s door. His name was Sylo, Clarke was pretty sure. They spoke a few words before Blix returned.

“So what’s on the docket today?” Clarke said. Blix smiled. 

“Notable noble houses, focusing on royal relations, and vocabulary.”

The next few hours went by quickly. Clarke enjoyed Blix’s company, for all that she didn’t know him well enough to trust him, and having Raven around helped her reach her sarcasm quota of the day. Rather than walk through the palace again, they went outside and walked along the wall of the Silent Forest. The path followed it closely, usually staying about twenty feet from the old cut stone fortification. The trail was well maintained, closer to a small road than anything, and easy enough for Raven. The other woman did have to interrupt periodically for clarification on certain things, usually words or social norms she didn't know.

About an hour before lunch, the three of them headed over to the Supana to check in with the other Skaikru. The majority of the rooms given to them were off of the same hallway to keep them closer together. Clarke had yet to come here since it had become inhabited. The first indication of restlessness was the sheer number of people milling about. When they had been staying in the Freyna, people spent the majority of their time exploring as much of the palace as possible. Now, they sat around in groups large and small, playing cards or just talking. Clarke deeply regretted not checking in on her people the day before. 

A few doors down, they found Abby taking stock of all of the things they had brought with them. 

“Hey Mom.” Clarke said.

“Clarke! Raven! And what was your name again?” She said when she turned to the open doorway. 

“I am Blix of the Snow, My Lady.” He said, bowing the same straight backed, bent at the waist bow he gave Clarke.

“Nice to meet you again.” Abby said. Clarke was not sure they had ever met for a first time.

“So what have we got?” Raven asked.

“Not enough. We have two full doses of antibiotics, some other basics. My current concern is hormones, though. We have six estrogen implants and four testosterone. They’re good for a year’s dosage each, but with so many people, it won’t last.”

“They came here knowing that we might run out before we could make more. We have a time to figure it out. You said that there would be some useful equipment at Farm Station?” Clarke said.

“There should be. Farm Station dealt with genetically engineering produce. If that equipment survived, we should be able to repurpose it. But we will need soy. Lots and lots of soy.”

“I’ll mention it. We’re about to go have lunch with Roan. We need to set up concrete things for people to do before they get too restless. Any thoughts?”

“Yes. We’ll need work spaces. I’ll need a proper infirmary, not just whatever they have here. We’ll need materials and projects. What do they want from us? It can’t just be medicine and teaching children about magnetism. If Roan can give us goals, like air conditioning the palace, or electric street lights, we’ll be good to go.”

“Alright. Projets. Space. Materials. Farm Station. Do we know where it is from here? You were Chancellor at the time.”

“Only that it was five miles inside the Ice Nation border North, North west of Arkadia.” 

Clarke sighed. “We’ll find it.” She glanced over at Blix. “Do you know how long we have until we’re meeting Roan?”

“About fifteen minutes.” It would take them every one of those minutes to make it back to her room with all of the roundabout hallways and Raven’s slow pace. She turned back to her mother. “Want to come with?”

Abby looked down at her sheets of loose paper, the head of half empty backpacks, and the stacks of pill bottles and white gauze. “Sure, why not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, all! I'm trying to include more Raven, because she's amazing, but it's difficult to have all of the characters I want as involved as I want without having every scene be a group scene. On a bright note, the next chapter will be from Roan's pov!


	15. Chapter 15

Roan waited for Clarke in her private dining room, trying not to feel invasive. He did not like the idea of entering spaces that had been promised to her. It felt like breaking his pledge for privacy and autonomy. 

The rooms were very different from the last time he had been in them over a decade before. He couldn’t tell if they had been changed by Meana, who was sitting and waiting with him, specifically for Clarke or if they had been changed over the years he had been absent. Either way, the room they sat in now was not the same room he had played in with Hawk as a child.

The two of them had been sitting for a minute or two when a servant came in to set a sixth place at the table. Roan felt Meana glance at him, no doubt also wondering who Clarke was bringing with her when the question was answered. 

Clarke walked into her dining room as Roan imagined she would walk into battle, tall and proud with tight muscles and a locked jaw. Behind her was her mother, Abby, and the Raven woman. Abby was the head healer and had lead the Skaikru herself for a time and Roan didn’t doubt that she was one of Clarke’s closest advisors. His knowledge of Raven was more vague. He knew that she spent a great deal of time with Wanheda and that many Trikru considered her to be as dangerous as her leader, despite her obvious bad leg. He very much wanted to know why.

Blix followed the women, closing the door. Roan stood out of respect and sat when they sat, three and three, around the table. Two servants placed plates of food around before disappearing. No one made a move to eat.

“A good sturdy meal,” Meana began her version of pleasantries, “is most important in all new friendships.” Her voice was clear and high, good for beginning things. “Tell me, Skaikru friends, how are your people settling in?”

“So far they are adjusting well.” Abby took the lead. “The Supana fits us nicely.”

Roan wondered how much of Skaikru politics revolved around placation. Clan politics certainly didn’t lack for it. He met Clarke’s eyes while her mother spoke before turning to Raven. Both of them wore the same neutral expression of slightly pursed lips and a hint of exasperation behind their eyes.

“We have been wondering when we will start to give back.” Abby continued.

“To give back.” Meana said not as a question or a statement, simply feeling the words in her mouth. “The Skaikru-”

“-Are bored. Restless.” Raven interrupted. Roan flicked his eyes back to her and she met his gaze, speaking directly to him instead of to the benign safety net of curtesy that was Meana and Blix. Meana raised an eyebrow, but was otherwise unfazed at being interrupted. Interestingly, Abby looked less than pleased. “Skaikru are anxious as hell and have nothing to do but twiddle our thumbs and think about all the possible ways this could go wrong. Which is a lot, by the way. We need something to do. A project to make us feel needed without feeling exploited. Something harmless but useful, and a place to do it.”

Roan almost smiled at her. No wonder Clarke liked this woman. Her directness put even her leader to shame. No other Skaikru had ever spoken to him directly, with the exception of the boy who had chased after Clarke until Roan’s sword stopped him, and of course Clarke herself. Roan sat casually, but gave her his full attention. “Nothing military, then. A civil improvement project. A hospital, perhaps?”

“Eventually, yes.” Clarke spoke for the first time. “But it’s not practical to start with. Skaikru aren’t very good at building things new. We repurpose and recycle, turning one thing into another. It won’t be hard for us to relearn, but we need to start small. A new medical wing for the palace first, then a hospital for the city. But we also have our own project, one that we need to start on now.”

“We will assist in whatever way we can.” Roan was curious now.

“We need to talk about Path Changers.”

“What about us?” Blix leaned forward now. The surprise was evident in Clarke’s eyes. She hadn’t realized that Blix wasn’t a man. Surprise was followed by guilt, which she seemed to swallow down before continuing. 

“We have medicine that can help to change people’s bodies to match their hearts. Nearly all of our Path Changers take it for one reason or another, and nearly all of them feel more like themselves because of it.”

“How effective is this medicine?” Blix asked. They were focusing exclusively on Clarke now.

“It’s often paired with other things, like surgery, but it can be taken alone. It isn’t magic, and it isn’t perfect, but it can be very powerful and does go a long way to help a lot of people.” Abby said.

Roan could see Blix going down the rabbit hole, how they wanted to know everything there was to know about this medicine. Knowing the Skaikru, an explanation could take days. “This project, what is it exactly? You already have the medicine.”

“It’s an ongoing treatment and we have a limited supply. We will run out quickly if we can’t find a way to make more.” The older woman said.

“You already have a plan.” Roan knew better than to phrase it as a question.

“We do.” Raven spoke up. “But we need a few things. Firstly, soybeans.”

“The food?” Meana asked, confusion drawing together her pretty eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“That should be easy enough to acquire, depending on the quantity you need.” Meana glanced over at Roan for his opinion. The meal in front of them was completely forgotten.

“Lots.” Abby said. “The more the better. If we can make enough for our own people, we could start distributing it among other clans.”

“It could be a valuable resource.” Roan said carefully, watching the Skaikru’s reactions. “Especially for establishing peace. Many would have second thoughts about angering us and losing their supply.” He said it cautiously. Using medicine as leverage was a contentious issue among the Skaikru. It was common knowledge that many of them kept treating ill Trikru even as their two peoples were on the brink of war. “It would also go a long way to mend bridges across the Coalition.” If Abby was put on edge from his words, so be it. Neither Clarke nor Raven looked fazed. “But it can’t be as simple as that.”

“Secondly,” Raven continued smoothly as if the tangent hadn’t happened. “We need the equipment to make it.”

“Which you do not have nor can you easily make.”

“Which we do not have nor can we easily make. But we don’t have to. One of the stations that made it to the ground intact was our Farm Station, where all of our food was produced. It will have equipment we can repurpose.” She spoke with utter confidence. Roan did actually smile this time at the progression of the conversation as Clarke let out a long breath that was probably a sigh and Abby picked at her thumb nail. He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one amused by the irony.

“Only one of our people was actually on Farm Station when it came down. The rest sided with Pike. We know approximately where it is, but we’ll need help finding it’s exact location.”

“We know where it is.” Blix threw in. “A caravan can be sent out in the morning. It fell far from any roads big enough for a cart. Whatever it is you need will have to be carried.”

“As for workspaces and the like,” Meana added, “we may have to make do with some unused space we already have. Between the coronation, the upcoming ceremony, and the initial costs of settling in the Skaikru, not to mention the expense of the soy and whatever other costs this endeavor will have, the crown’s purse is stretched thin. We could add a tax to the sale of soy to decrease demand and make it cheaper to buy up, as well as bring in more revenue for Skaikru and their activities.” Roan did not like where Meana was going with this, but Clarke spoke up before he could intervene. 

“Raising the cost of food seems like a sure way to make assimilation harder.” She said. “Whatever benefit our presence brings will be tainted by taking food away from people who need it.” She turned to her mother. “Supplying hormone therapy to the world would be amazing, but we can’t let people starve before the first harvest comes in. If we start smaller, then we can put more effort into helping to increase crop production and next year maybe have enough soy to move to larger amounts.” She looked back to Roan. “I am assuming that Azgeda isn’t drowning in soy.”

“To my knowledge, we are not. Spring harvests won’t be long now, but scouring the kingdom for every soybean will tighten some belts. With the harvests come marketplace taxes. We can find other ways to bring in more money by then. As for other projects, how much will your plans for the infirmary cost approximately?” He asked.

“It depends on what you already have. Most likely, we will have to build it completely new. It could get expensive, considering how much metal we’ll need.” Abby answered.

“It can be put on hold if necessary, though. We can work with what’s already here. As for cheaper projects, teaching doesn’t cost much. We can take students and start as soon as possible. That will keep most of us occupied while we wait for the equipment and soy.” Raven added. “How many do you want us to take on? Should we start with a broad base education or stay hyper specialized?”

“I will leave that up to you. What ages do you prefer? Young children that you can mold, adults who can think for themselves, somewhere in between?” Roan pushed his fork out of the way to rest his elbow on the table.

Raven and Abby looked at each other and had a furious conversation consisting of four whispered words and a lot of eye contact before Raven turned back towards him. “Eleven to thirteen would be good. Young, but old enough to learn critical thinking.”

“The orphanages will have that age in plenty.” Blix said. They saw the purse of Abby’s lips and leaned forward as if to speak to her directly. “Children with little future, no family or trade to be passed down, only a hope of joining the King’s army.”

“We can have a score here by nightfall.” Meana cut in.

“That will work perfectly.” Clarke said. “We don’t want to be a burden. We just want to have a home. Some place we can be safe and help others. If something isn’t practical, or will have unintended consequences, we want to know.” 

Roan felt the close of the meeting. “Of course. I think we have our immediate plan of action. We can meet again in a few days for updates and more details as things come together.” He stood up and everyone else quickly followed suit, though it took Raven a second try. “Unless there is anything else?”

“No, not from us.” Clarke said, walking around the table of untouched food. Roan mirrored her and she walked with him through her living room to her front door, Meana and Blix trailing behind. “Thank you for meeting, Roan.”

“You’re welcome, Clarke. If you need anything else, just ask.”

“I will.”

Blix and Meana bowed before following him out. The old door creaked behind them and gave just the slightest echo when it shut. Roan glanced back at it from his own open doorway. The two other Skaikru did not come out. What they were saying in private was not his business. 

“Your Majesty,” Blix called from their place by the window. Roan let the door fall shut.

“Do we have the resources for everything they hope for?” Roan knew the generalities of his Kingdom’s finances, but he hardly had the time to go over every detail. He could have spent every day of the last year at his mother’s side learning everything possible and he still wouldn’t have been fully prepared. Trying to readjust to living among his people and leave the scavenger life behind while taking over control of a massive country amid political chaos was not his ideal homecoming.

“It will cost us, and we may have to make cuts elsewhere, but we could do it. Unless you were to borrow the money.” Meana said evenly. Roan almost narrowed his eyes but held himself in check. Azgedans did not think well of people who borrowed money. Meana did not suggest it out of a desire to be helpful.

“To hold two kingly celebrations within months of taking the throne, welcome an enemy into the palace, then immediately beg from the nobles. A sure way to win faith indeed.” Roan wondered at what point the woman would stop testing him. His military advisors, Robit and Thea, had challenged him and his ability to lead honestly and privately upon his arrival in Pensa. Roan had not exactly been happy about it, but much preferred their honesty to Meana’s constant needling with just a hint of undermining. As it was, the position of Coin wasn’t nearly as easy to replace as the religious and cultural advisors had been, especially when she had over a decade of experience. Roan still considered himself lucky that Maren had been one of the highest ranking agents for her predecessor, who had gone into retirement willingly at Roan’s prompting, leaving most of his network intact.

“Perhaps, after the Skaikru warm to their lives here, we can bring up the possibility of them bringing in profits with their projects.” Blix commented, still standing by the window. The priest had been an excellent find as far as Roan was concerned. Maren had been the one to bring the youth to the capital, young and clever and far too loyal. They were new to politics, but quick to learn while being friendly and likeable enough to put anyone on edge.

“In the future, maybe. Six months, a year. Not now and not reliably. For now we make do. No new taxes either, if we can help it. Cut bits and pieces here or there, enough that nothing will be immediately affected. I have confidence in you.” It was a dismissal and Meana knew it. Blix followed her to the door.

“Send Hawk,” Roan called after them. “If you see her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy It's-My-Brother's-Birthday-and-Totally-Not-Overshadowed-by-Another-Holiday Day!   
> Roan's POV, as promised. I have one more chapter coming up, not immediately but soon, that won't have him in it, then he should be in most of them. The pacing of the story should be picking up too.   
> I'll be going on vacation next week, which means I'll either be writing twelve hours a day or not at all. A chapter will still be posted as scheduled, but it might be a little longer or shorter than usual.  
> Just a side note, as a cis who has no cis friends, (seriously, except for my roommate all of my friends are trans, primarily NB) I think they need to up the trans representation of this show. They have so many different LGBT characters, but no trans peeps? Really? And hormones would definitely be a huge medical issue for a lot of people.


	16. Chapter 16

Clarke opened her eyes the next morning to the thought that she and her people had survived a full week in Azgeda without a single notable conflict. No one had attacked or been attacked by an Azgedan. She hadn’t thought that it would go this well. 

The sky was dark outside and she could hear the pitter patter of rain, but judging from the oil left in her lamp it was very close to dawn. The air was cold when she pulled back her furs and wool blankets, and the stone floor made her reach for the slippers under her bed. She looked through her closet, full of Azgedan clothes as well as the two Skaikru outfits she had brought. She didn’t have anything against the Azgedan clothes, she just hadn’t gotten used to the feel of wool against her bare skin yet. But she was also practical and knew she would have to make the change eventually. She dressed warmer than she had since leaving Arkadia, choosing loose wool pants and shirt, with a long leather vest over it that wouldn’t impede her movements. She was pulling on a pair of boots when there was a knock on her door.

“Come in.” She called. Hawk opened the door with a small tray of food.

“The caravan for Farm Station sets out in less than an hour. Three of your people are leaving with them. They asked we inform you.” The older woman said.

“Which three?” 

“Your Raven, an Elliot, and another named Calvin.”

Clarke knew the names. They were engineers and friends of the mechanic. “Where are they now? I should see them off.”

“As you wish. They are currently in the stables, readying the horses, but they will gather in the front courtyard before they leave. His Majesty will join you, if you will permit it.”

“I will. Is he in the training yard or his room?”

“The White barracks. It rained through the night, flooding the training yard.”

Clarke nodded. She loved the rain, but had learned the hard way about the hazards it could bring. “I’ll go to him.” She grabbed her breakfast pasty and walked with Hawk to the White barracks, where the majority of his Kingsguard lived. It was nicer than the larger barracks’ in the Mal, with small private rooms for its occupants rather than rows of bunks. The individual rooms all came off of the large common room that they shared, with a few tables and chairs that were often pushed aside to make room for indoor training. 

As far as Clarke could tell, every one of Roan’s guards were there, minus the ones guarding the doors. The king himself was in the middle in a two-against-one fight. His speed and awareness were impressive, though Clarke could tell he would not be winning this match. The guards, Sylo and one called Lyf, moved in unison, knowing exactly how to compliment each other. Roan would go after one, the other would block him. Lyf took a hit, Sylo got her back on her feet before Roan could close in. Within a minute, Lyf got a well placed kick to Roan’s head just as Sylo swiped his feet out from under him, ending the fight with Roan flat on his back, breath knocked out of him, with two pairs of fists ready to keep him down. Roan didn’t try to get back up, instead taking a minute to gather his breath. As much as Clarke wanted to see Roan take on two of his best warriors and win, she was glad that he didn’t. It would be pathetic if his guards weren’t good enough to take him on two against one.

“Clarke.” He said when he opened his eyes. “Care to join us today?” He flexed his legs before bringing them up above his body and doing a kip up to get back to his feet.

“Not today. I’m heading to the front courtyard to see if the scientists need anything else before they leave. Hawk said you might want to come.”

“Yes.” He grabbed a loose shirt that had been tossed against a wall. When he lifted up his arms to put it on, his bare chest flexed and Clarke’s eye was drawn to the burn on his abdomen. She vividly remembered stabbing him, hoping against hope that he would just die already. She wondered where she would be now if she had been a little luckier or he had been a little less stubborn. The shirt fell into place, with a jacket over it, and her eyes moved back to his face.

They walked through the palace together, with Hawk behind them. 

“Your guards. How are they in a hand to hand fights?” Roan asked.

“Lincoln was one of the best fighters in all of Trikru. Octavia was Indra’s second. She also trains with Lincoln every day. When she fights for real, she wins more than she loses. The Miller’s, Nathan and David, are decent as far as Skaikru go, but would lose to any real warrior.” Clarke said honestly.

“And so far you just have the four?” 

“We don’t have that many people. Even fewer warriors. I might round up one or two more, but not as many as you have.” 

Roan nodded. “You won’t need that many. But the ones you have should train with mine, especially if they’re that weak. Guns have their uses, but my people hate them, and won’t trust yours as long as they are the primary weapon they use. They should learn swords.”

“I agree. Guns are haphazard weapons anyways, almost as dangerous for the person holding it as for the enemy in close range. As for my general population, some may be interested in learning to fight, but most of them won’t know where to begin.”

“As long as they are part of my kingdom, they will be my people, and protected. They may be looked down on by some, but they will still be safe.” He said. Clarke had figured as much.

“When is the Conclave?” Clarke asked. 

“I’m told it will start in four days. A rider will be sent to all clans as soon as it is over to announce the winner. Then we will send a representative to the capitol to swear fealty to the new Commander. You’ve met the Nightbloods. What are the chances we are going to get a strong leader?”

“None. The oldest one was barely fourteen. It’s not going to be a fight between warriors, it’s going to be a slaughter of young children by slightly older children. Lexa was confident that one named Aden would win. He seemed smart enough. He loved Lexa. If he does win, he would side with us if only because it’s what Lexa did.”

“Lexa was sixteen when she won. Most Commanders are around that age, maybe a bit older when they take the Flame. A child Commander is almost worse than none. The time after the death of the Heda but before the next Conclave is like a month frozen in time. No one wants to make a move, because if they do it could mean the slaughter of their people should the next Commander to come into power be a strong one. But once a Commander is decided, then the clans decide whether or not to test their strength. My mother thought Lexa would be weak, and lost the lives of nearly a thousand warriors because of it. This next one will be worse.” Roan did not look happy.

“We should swear in person.” Clarke said.

Roan thought about it. “Sending a representative is the standard. We won’t be thought less of for doing it. And we have no small amount of work to be done here.”

“Agreed, but it’s not things that couldn’t be done without us. If everyone sends representatives to swear loyalty, it doesn’t mean anything. And you just said that the clans might go to war if the Commander doesn’t look strong enough. Swearing in person would be taken as a real oath, that we won’t stand idle in the face of war. With other representatives there, it will send a message across the twelve clans that Azgeda backs whoever takes the Flame. Azgeda is the largest and strongest of the clans. None of the other leaders would dare to make a move unless they were completely certain they had enough allies to make a coup successful. Besides, only the Commander is changing. The rest of the leaders in the capitol will remember when Nia kidnapped, tortured, and murdered Lexa’s lover. They won’t trust Azgeda easily, even when you were given your crown by a Commander.”

“I see your points. It would be a powerful statement to make swearing fealty in person be your first act as an Azgedan. It would also be dangerous. Word has already spread that a Skaikru faction has taken refuge in Pensa. When the other clans hear of the ceremony, they will fear us. To leave the capitol would be a perfect time for an assassination attempt.”

“We could travel in secret. We both know how to travel without attracting attention.”

“True enough. It wouldn’t be hard to get there quietly. Leaving may be a different situation, but I’m sure we could manage.” He mulled over the idea.

“Unless we would have other duties when the ceremony is done that I don’t know about?” They were in the south side of the palace now, close to the front courtyard.

“No. There will be some nobles coming to swear late oaths, but someone else can greet them. Come harvest, there will be festivals that we must participate it, but that’s a month off.”

Clarke nodded. A guard opened a door for them and then they were outside. The rain was still coming, now reduced to a light but cold mist. A little over a dozen people scurried around the courtyard saddling some horses, hitching others to carts, securing tarps over supplies, and checking their inventory. 

“Hey.” Raven started limping over. Clarke and Roan walked out from under the archway to meet her halfway. 

“Hey. Are you sure you want to go? Elliot and Calvin can deal with this.” Clarke tried to say it quietly enough to keep the question private, but there was no preventing Roan from hearing it. She knew that rain and bad weather inflamed Raven’s back and leg and a few days in a saddle would be agony. 

“I’ll be fine. If it gets too bad, I’ll ride in one of the carts. I’m not going to sit around with Abby watching me every second, ready to pounce the moment I show weakness. Is this just how she’s going to be now? ‘Cause I’m going to have some issues.”

“This is how she deals with feeling helpless. She tried doing it to me, but I’m in a different wing, plus I run faster than you.” Clarke said.

Raven cackled. “I don’t know, I’m feeling pretty spry. We could have a five K when I get back. Winner has to give the loser a backrub.”

“Agreed. Winning is easy. Losing is where the real skill is. Do you have everything you need? Will three carts be enough to bring back all of the equipment?” 

“Should be. One for solar panels and batteries, one for the large pieces, and one for the small pieces. We’ll grab spare parts for things that look worn or broken and put them in saddlebags if we have to. Assuming your guys are good for the muscle,” She said to Roan, “we should have everything we need.” 

“If they won’t do, I have more.” Roan said with a twitch of his lips.

“I might take you up on that, just for funsies.”

“When do you leave?” Clarke asked.

“Any minute now. I don’t really know how long it takes to hook some horses up to some harnesses, but as soon as they finish that, we should be good to go.” As soon as she said it, a woman waved at Raven. 

“Stay safe. Don’t wander away from the warriors. They are there to protect you, and we don’t know how the general population is reacting to us moving in.” Clarke said.

“Oh, oh my god. I can’t believe it. Abby? How did you get inside Clarke?” 

Clarke slapped her on the shoulder, then pulled her in for a hug. “Promise me you will stay safe.”

“As safe as houses.” One of Roan’s people came over with a saddled horse. 

“Raven, what does that even mean?” Clarke asked.

“I have no idea. Anyways, seems like it’s time to go do my thing.” Raven turned to her horse and grabbed the horn, but all three of them saw the problem.

“Here.” Roan said quietly, his deep voice just loud enough to travel to the women. Raven nodded, still facing the horse, and his hands went to her waist, hoisting her up in one go. Raven managed to get her good leg in the stirrup and, while leaning as flat against the horse as she could, use her free hand to pull bad leg over the back of the animal. 

“Thanks.” Raven said brusquely, looking very intently at her saddle and definitely not at him. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Elliot and Calvin were already in their saddles in the middle of the column. Clarke waved to them and they waved back before turning towards the gate. All of the Azgedans bowed from the saddle as they passed Clarke and Roan. Soon enough they were out the gate and on their way down to the city. Clarke felt her stomach tighten in a way she hadn’t when Octavia and Lincoln left the relative safety of Pensa.

“Those people with her, they’re warriors, right? And trustworthy?” Clarke asked.

“They are. As long as she stays with them, she should be fine.” Roan answered. 

“Thanks.”

“Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Not particularly. My people are coming up with lesson plans for their students, but they don’t need me for that.” 

“Let’s walk.” He said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot yesterday was Sunday, so here it is this morning.


	17. Chapter 17

“What’s your goal, Clarke.”

Roan walked with her, taking a long way towards the Supana and keeping to lesser used corridors. He prefered to speak openly with Clarke and that was made difficult when there were mingling people on all sides.

“Safety.” She said it without hesitation, like she had answered this question so many times before that the one word answer was automatic. “What about you? What do you want?”

“Stability.” Roan chose not to comment on how idealistic her hope was and was glad that she returned the favor. His people sowed chaos like hers attracted danger. He kept walking for another few yards, his boots echoing softly on the smooth stone, before he realised that she had slowed to a stop in front of a tapestry of a beheading.

“You can tell a lot about a culture by what they celebrate and memorialize. Are there any of these that aren’t violent?” Her voice sounded rote and tired, like she wasn’t quite awake.

“No.”

“Do you want your people to change, Roan?” She turned away from the crude illustration of a blood spray. “Azgedans, and the clans as a whole, are hard out of a need so strong that it became who you are. But if we can create a surplus, that type of brutality won’t be necessary. They could grow to be-”

“More like the Sky People?” He gritted his teeth and kept his voice from getting too cold, thought it was still cool.

“I didn’t mean it like that. My people have more than their share of flaws and I’m not pretending otherwise. But we can be better. Here, away from the pain and violence that Pike rained down on everything, we can all be better. We can learn from each other’s mistakes.” She was trying to crush the hope in her voice, no doubt perfectly aware of how naive it made her sound, but it bled through into her words anyway. 

Roan breathed out slowly, rolling out his shoulder as he did. “I forget how young you are sometimes.” Her head snapped towards him, the tired distance gone in an instant, replaced with flashing eyes and red cheeks. “I’m not calling you a child, you certainly don’t act like one, just…” His gaze wandered away from her towards the walls. “You’re right. The twelve clans are hard people because we live hard lives. But those values are drilled into us every day of our lives. Each clan has their own history and their own approach to violence, some more or less compassionate than others, but we all fight to live every day. Any deviation is ostracized and scorned.”

“Like the Boat Clan.”

“Exactly. Right now my people fear you because you have weapons that they don’t understand. But, if peace continues, they will forget their fear and only remember their disdain for anyone who can’t wield a sword. If you try to change their minds, they will fight you, bloodily and cruelly, to keep to their ways. The most you can hope for, Clarke, is to continue as you are, sowing strength and mercy. If you can make them respect you because of kindness rather than despite it, you might have some affect. But as for future generations, who knows.” He paused for a moment before feeling the need to clarify so that she didn’t misunderstand. “When I said that you were young, what I meant by that is that when you’re young, you don’t really understand how mind numbingly stubborn older people can be about their long held beliefs. If you’re twenty, and you’ve devoted your entire adult life to one thing, that’s what, four years? Maybe five? Someone who’s dedicated four decades to war will struggle to see who they might be without it. Not just that, but the line between murder and battle deaths is stark. Someone who’s earned a dozen kill marks honorably will take pride in them. If that warrior is told that war and death are unnecessary and peace is always preferable, that the stark line they have always known isn’t so stark, what is the implication of that? Were some of those deaths avoidable, and therefor murder rather than a justified inevitably? Those are not changes that would be embraced.”

Clarke didn’t look at him when he spoke, which was just fine since he didn’t feel like looking at her either. He was talking about himself and they both knew it. “I see your point.” She said eventually. “But I still disagree with it. Though I did ask if you, personally, wanted them to change, not if they would.”

Roan let out a soft chuckle. “Not to be like the Skaikru. They’re the only ones known for being less honorable than us. Torturing a man trying to help you, opening fire on a peace negotiation, again on a corral of cooperating, scared civilians, and slaughtering their own guards in their sleep? Acts of individual people, to be sure, but indicative of how easily your people get scared and let that fear rule you. But we have a history of war for the sake of war and I think, given the opportunity, I would like to alter that.”

She didn’t say anything immediately, so he turned back towards the end of the hall, eyes scanning his surrounding lightly. He froze, his heel mid-turn, when he saw a painting he did not expect. It stood out if for no reason other than the quality of it. The smaller halls were full of pictures no one particularly cared about, made by apprentices sent to observe skirmishes with little historical importance and practise their art. This one was beautiful, large and intricately done with attention to detail and quality materials. When Roan had seen it last, it had hung in an atrium on the south side of the palace near the front gates, ostensibly on display for almost anyone who happened to visit the palace. Now it was hidden away.

“What is this one?” Clarke’s leather-on-stone footsteps sounded in his left ear. Her gaze danced over the image of nine bodies, bloody and clearly dead, encircling a crib. She was an artist herself, he remembered, and no doubt could see the differences between this and the ones around it. 

“The Klu’he massacre. I didn’t know this painting was still hanging.” He was the one speaking quietly now, like he was trying to avoid awakening the ghosts lurking behind the paint.

“It’s not in one of the galleries.” She observed.

“It used to be. I didn’t see it, so I thought it was taken down. The Klu’he are a faction of Azgedans who saw themselves as a separate clan. They paid their taxes and sent their seconds into battle for the Crown without complaint, but their ways are different and they wanted to be acknowledged with a spot in the Coalition and a seat on the small council. Obviously, this created conflict. There had been no all out war yet, but it had become an inevitability.” He was surprised at the anger that he felt sparking as he told her the story. “But when the Chief had a child, the King sent an envoy bearing gifts. During the naming ceremony, the envoy turned and slaughtered the entire family except for the boy. He was then married to the King’s youngest daughter, who was three. The Klu’he valued blood dearly and would do anything to keep their last royal alive, even if he was a stranger raised by the enemy by the time he returned to them. My grandfather knew it and kept him close until he came of age.”

“Your grandfather. This was recent?”

“Recent enough that Hawk’s father is still alive. He’s been with his people for the last twenty five years, as far away from the capital that stole his life as he can get without insulting the crown. She’s only seen him a handful of times since she was a child.” He wasn’t sure he should’ve said the last part. Hawk wasn’t sensitive about her history and made no effort to hide it, but she also didn’t speak of it frequently. When he finally looked over at Clarke, she was standing at his shoulder much closer than he had expected, chewing lightly at her lip. Nothing he had said couldn’t be found out from one of her tutors and most likely would have been taught to her eventually, after the more foundational knowledge was covered. Slowly, like she was waiting for him to snatch her hand away, she reached out to take the painting from the peg.

“You love Hawk.” It was a statement of fact with a question behind it.

“I do.” He wanted to know where her mind was going.

“But you let this picture hang.”  _ You let the slaughter of Hawk’s family be celebrated. _

“I didn’t know it was still up. It used to be in an entryway near the gardens, where everyone would see it. My mother must have moved it after Hawk did something to win her favor.”

“But you know where it is now.” She held it between them. Roan took it and tucked it under his arm. 

Clarke looked him over openly, something she rarely did. He had gotten used to her side glances and casual observations when she didn’t want others to know how much she actually saw. Her eyes started at his scared boots and worked over his plain clothes, threadbare in a few worn spots, all the way to his quickly braided mess of hair. She had spent enough time in Polis to know that powerful grounders did not shy away from rich clothing. He knew it must have been odd to her that he was the King of the largest clan, bearer of the second most powerful title in the Coalition, but still dressed like a scavenger. One day he would have a conversation with her about the politics behind his presentation. His Lords still saw him as a banished peasant prince. If he came home dressed in silks and fine fur, they would shun him for trying to fit in and be what he wasn’t. Instead, he chose to revel in how they saw him, in what he was: cunning, battleworn, perseverance, and strong. When he was crowned, he stood in front of gilded nobles in loose undyed pants, boots so worn you couldn’t tell what color they had been, and a sword. His scars, including the fresh ones given to him by the Wanheda and the Heda themselves, were on display for all to see. 

Finally, she turned away from him and started back towards the Supana. Roan matched his steps to hers and they walked shoulder to shoulder.

“They say you draw well.” He said eventually.

“I haven’t had the opportunity lately, but I’ve loved it since I was a child.”

“At the ceremony, we’ll present each other with gifts. Small things, just tokens to show friendship. I plan on giving you white paint. You should give me a drawing. That’ll have some interesting reactions.”

“How so?” She asked curiously.

“Azgedans have terrible superstitions about artists, especially royal ones. Wherever they go, terrible things happen.” He gestured at the pictures around them. Clarke let out a bark of laughter and he grinned.

 

* * *

 

They never made it into the Supana. The door to the wing was just barely in sight, a pair of Skaikru standing in the frame talking, when Blix caught up with them.

_ “Wanheda, Your Majesty.” _ Blix spoke in Trigedasleng rather than English. This conversation was private. Roan had not known the priest for very long, but even so he could hear the light strain in their voice.  _ “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” _

_ “We were planning a more intimate introduction with Clarke’s people, so that they would know me before the ceremony.” _ Roan said evenly, glancing at Clarke.

_ “It can wait.” _ Clarke with just a hint of caution. She knew something was wrong too. 

_ “A rider from Trikru arrived carrying a letter from Indra. I was sent to inform you.” _   No one would dare to order a royal advisor to carry messages unless they were of dire importance.

_ “What kind of letter?” _ Clarke asked. Her eyes had turned cold.  _ “Lincoln and Octavia couldn’t have sent something back that quickly. They only just got there.” _

_ “I did not read it myself.” _ They said, but it was a deflection. Blix knew what it said.  _ “Robit and Thea await you in your rooms, Your Majesty.” _

Roan’s blood ran cold. The advisors were already preparing for war. 

_ “Let’s not keep them waiting.” _ Clarke turned on her heel towards the White Wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a rough mental health month, so sorry for missing an update. That being said, the chapter I was planning on posting was shit, so I’m glad I gave myself time to rewrite it. I generally hate leaving it on a cliffhanger, but if I didn’t cut it off here then the plot (yes, actual plot!) for the next three chapters would get jumbled.   
> As for hypothetical missed updates in the future, I fully and completely plan on having a chapter ready every week, but I’m also a huge perfectionist and have already posted several chapters that I’m not particularly happy with, so I might let it slide in the future so that I can rewrite and post something I’m proud of. This will not be the norm, though.


	18. Chapter 18

“Your Majesty, My Lady.” Maren was standing in Roan’s door when Clarke, Roan, and Blix reached her. None of the Azgedans seemed to agree on what to call Clarke. Every title was either too formal for someone who wasn’t their sovereign, too casual for someone of her importance and influence, or a direct reference to how many people she had killed. Just then, Clarke couldn’t have cared less.

Maren was already moving further into the rooms, a close copy of Clarke’s own with with slightly different furniture.

“The rider said that the letter was for Wanheda and of terrible importance, but it bore no seal. I hope I did not offend by reading it.”

“Not at all.” Clarke would have to tell Indra and any other potential allies to seal their letters with a signet. If Maren had read this one, she would read others and Clarke never would have known if the subject hadn’t been so urgent. 

“Thea, Robit.” Roan greeted the other two advisors without fanfare before turning back to Maren. “When did this rider get here?”

“Half an hour ago. She’s resting now. She said she left yesterday at dawn and rode through the night.” She produced a sheet of plain linen paper, creased as if folded for a long time, and held it out. Clarke wasn’t sure if it was for her or Roan, but he made no move to take it. She reached out and thought that it was a shame she would never become a surgeon like her mother. She would have been good at it. No matter how nervous she was, her hands never shook.

She read it twice before handing it to Roan. Whether he read it faster than she did or if she just stopped feeling time the proper way, Roan was quickly handing the letter off to Blix.

“You have all already read it?” Roan sounded angry. Clarke had never seen him visibly angry. Even when his mother had gambled away his life and later when he had helped Clarke plot her murder, he had only shown moderate exasperation and annoyance. She realized, as she studied his emotions, that she herself had gone to that hyper-clear place she sometimes found when she had to make impossible decisions knowing that none of them were the right ones and her people were going to be hurt. She vividly pictured running away from Ton DC with Lexa right before the missile struck and then, briefly, her hands covered in Finn’s blood as she gutted him.

“Yes, my King. We believed it would be best to act as quickly as possible.” Maren made no apology and held no shame.

“What’s already been done?” He asked. 

“We are taking stock of our current resources and options. We will have a full count soon, but there are approximately one hundred cavalry in Pensa and another two hundred in the area being called home.” Thea answered. The four advisors still stood, Thea and Robit next to the chaise where they had been sitting, Maren by the table, and Blix just outside the cluster.

“You can sit.” Clarke said as she took a spot on the open couch. Roan sat next to her with some space between, but close enough to touch. The rest followed suit.

“Do we question the authenticity of this letter? Tricking Azgeda into sending hundreds of warriors into Trikru territory right as the Conclave starts would be… an interesting way to produce chaos.” Blix sounded unsure, still holding the paper open in their hand. 

“Laren recognized the rider. There’s no doubt that it’s from Ton DC. Another clan might try to something like that, but no Trikru would bring that kind of trouble to their own door.” Maren said emphatically. Robit and Thea nodded in agreement.

Clarke took a deep breath and leaned back against the cushions. “How long will it take for the soldiers to gather?”

“Tomorrow morning, Wanheda.” Thea answered. 

“And no other actions have been taken?” Roan asked. He was coiled next to her, tight and radiating dry heat like a broken vent sending waves strong enough to burn your nose and lungs.

“Just to sort and prepare rations in case of a march. We await your orders.” Maren spoke again. Roan turned to Clarke, eyes dark. He wanted her input.  _ He is your ally, your partner. Work with him. _ Her hand curled around the flesh just above her knee, digging down hard. She wondered if this rider had passed Octavia and Lincoln or if they had taken different roads.

“So we leave at first light, ride through the night, reach Arkadia at dawn, then what? Take the town?” Robit was agitated enough to forget any courtesy. “I’m not putting my warriors against Skaikru weapons unless we bring Skaikru to defend against it. They’ve had no trouble killing hundreds of their enemies at a time before.”

Clarke shook her head, her nails biting harder. She had not counted on a possibility of war this early. “We don't have the resources to fight them like that. If we had an EMP, or even just a regular old bomb, it would be different. We could blow out the fence, or-” Pain brought more clarity. She was out of her seat and reaching for the letter again in a second. Blix gave it over without hesitation and she found the words she was looking for quickly. “‘-hanging from the fence.’ Indra said that the hostages are hanging directly from the fence.” The anger boiled up in her veins again, a soft chant in the back of her mind  _ hurt Pike hurt Pike hurt Pike _ that she pushed down for later. “But she also said that they’re still alive, or at least they were when this was written. ‘Kicking and yelling.’ But the fence is electrified. Touching it directly won’t kill you instantly, but if you were tied to it for an extended period of time, it would be like getting struck by lightning very, very slowly. It would stop their hearts and eventually slow cook them.”

“How long is eventually?” Roan asked. His voice was even but tight. He was dangerous and in a mood to kill.  _ To kill for us. _

“Depends on how healthy they are, depends on luck. But they wouldn’t last the night like she said they did. If Pike really did string up fifteen people along the fence in the middle of the night, not one of them would have been alive by dawn.” Then, angry and confused, she muttered ‘fifteen!’ again. Roan leaned forward on his elbows, following her train of thought.

“You only left seven behind. Even if he managed to root out every one of your people, that still makes up less than half of his victims. The rest might have been sympathetic, or suspected of sympathy, but they aren’t actually your people.”

“They are now.” Clarke said darkly. “But still, the fence. Either Indra didn’t mean literally, or Arkadia’s biggest defense is broken or turned off.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Blix shifted uncomfortably, moving their feet so their toes poked out from under their skirts.

“They… would be free for the taking.” Thea was visibly torn between hesitation and bloodlust. 

“They still have other weapons. The fence, it can be turned on and off at will?” Robit asked.

“It could be a threat. That if we try to attack, or anger them somehow, they’ll activate it. Unless it really is broken?” Maren thought out loud.

“If it is broken, I don’t know why they would advertise it. We didn’t sabotage it when we left; that would have drawn too much attention. We’ve only been gone for a week. It’s unlikely that it broke from wear and tear on that time.” Clarke said. 

“We will prepare for an encampment if we have to.” Roan said it firmly. “We have the supplies here. It would just have to be organized. It can be ready to go by dawn. But I don’t like the idea of going in blind. Pike waited five days before retaliating and my warriors will have no way of fighting them on even footing.”

“I’ll see about bringing some Skaikru, but we won’t be able to ride as fast and as long as your people. We’ll have to follow behind. Or leave earlier.” She turned back to Roan, folding the letter carefully along its creases to avoid crushing it in her fist. “We could leave now, me and a few others. Take some light supplies. Your people could follow in the morning.”

Roan’s eyebrows came together as his face hardened just a bit. He wanted to object to the idea, but he wouldn’t.

“Take some of my King’s Guard with you. The journey can be dangerous for a small group. I’ll lead the cavalry.” It sounded like a compromise he made with himself. 

Clarke nodded. “I need to find my people.”

Blix, always helpful, jumped forward. “Horses can be ready for you in an hour.” 

“Thank you.” Clarke took another look at the faces around her, already running through who she might want to take with her, before heading towards the door. Roan was through the door after her, following her out into the hallway. He caught her wrist between his thumb and forefinger, turning her to face him. She rotated her arm and twisted her hand out of his grip and he let go immediately.

“Clarke,” He spoke quietly even though they were alone. “It takes a full day for a rider to reach us from Ton DC. If they were strung up in the middle of the night, they’ve been hanging for a day and a half already. It’ll be close to three days by the time any of us get there.”

“Don’t you DARE say they’re already dead.” She snarled, lashing out at him irrationally and regretting it immediately. Her calm had slipped in private away from the advisors and she quickly pushed down the other emotions until she was focused again.

“When. When you get there, try to be patient. There is a chance that we’ll catch up with you by the time you get there, depending on how well you ride. But if we don’t, be patient. Please.” He added. The word sounded weird coming out of his mouth. “This is my army. These people are my people too, or at least they’re going to be. And I mean to protect them with you. But that means you have to let me help. I need you to wait for me, even if it means letting them suffer for another few hours. And-” He stopped, reconsidered, and continued. “You will do no one any good dead, Clarke, especially not those people.” He pulled away, like he had just decided he was too close to look at her properly. “Do you trust me, Clarke?”

He took her by surprise and it took her far too long to mutter a yes and nod. He hummed low, not impressed. 

“I trust you.” Clarke said firmly this time. “You’ll be there when I need you to be.” As she said it she realized that she hadn’t actually believed it. She had been thinking of Pensa as a nice place to stay and Roan as a good person to spend time with, but when push came to shove she had expected to be going into battle alone.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

“I know. I need to go find my people now, Roan.”

He didn’t try to stop her again.

 

* * *

 

A little over an hour later, Clarke and eight of her people were being shown how to strap a saddle to a horse. Instantly, Clarke had wanted to bring her mother and Raven, but the mechanic was already gone and with Clarke absent, Abby would have to take over as leader amongst the remaining Skaikru. Instead, she was bringing Jackson and Sinclair as well as another mechanic named Alice Garder and a nurse names Kos Platt. Roan had given her Hawk, Lyf, and his youngest guard Laren in addition to Nathan and David. Lastly, there was Monty and Bryan of all people. Nathan had talked Bryan into volunteering to try and mend their fraying relationship rather than put more distance between them and Clarke had allowed it because he had been part of Pike’s circle and might be useful to deescalate a volatile situation. Monty hadn’t given a reason when he had asked to join, but Clarke knew he hadn’t been doing well with isolation and probably wanted to try and talk Jasper or his mother into coming back with him. Not to mention that Monty and his mother were Clarke’s next best bet for keeping things peaceful.

Twelve leaving for Pensa, plus Octavia and Lincoln already in Trikru territory, and a few hundred riders coming after. If it did come to a fight, Clarke was confident that her side would win. She was also confident that the first people to die would be the civilians she was trying to save, caught in the middle. Clarke looked over the buckles on her saddle one more time before turning to the farewell party. Abby stood at the front of a smattering of twenty or so other Skaikru. Most of their people were spread out through the palace, sitting in the courtyards or libraries with their new pupils. There hadn’t been enough time to round them all up and make an announcement, so Clarke was leaving it to Abby to tell the others at dinner.

Clarke hugged her mother tightly before moving on to embrace the others. Some she knew well. Some she had barely spoken to before. Most of them held her tightly while pleading with her to keep their missing friends safe. Roan was waiting by her horse when she turned back. He had a saddlebag under his arm. 

“What’s that?” She asked. He flipped up the cover flap to reveal her new armor. 

“Take it. Otherwise what’s the point?” He stuck his hand in and pulled out a dagger. It was plain black leather sheath and wire wrapped hilt, but the steel was good and the blade was sharp.

“I don’t know if I can take all of that. My horse only has so much room.”

“Sontam can take it.” He said.  _ Summertime _ . He would only know this horse by name if it was one of his personal mounts.

“Clarke,” He spoke quietly, his rough voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll try.” She took the bag from him. He looked at her, blue eyes to blue eyes, before nodding. It was as good as he was going to get.

“Hawk can give you good council if you’ll let her.” He took a few steps back. “Lyf and Laren are smart enough and loyal. They won’t give you any trouble. I’ll leave it to you to tell Indra that a few hundred Azgedan warriors are riding into Trikru territory.” His lips quirked.

Clarke was pretty sure she would have laughed at that if she had been in a better mood. “I’ll see you in a few days.” She said as she mounted Sontam without assistance, her new armor hanging easily by her knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updated with ten minutes to spare! And would you look at that, the plot is actually moving along. I'm not exactly sure if this chapter is as clear as I want it to be, by which I mean I wrote it specifically to have an odd reveal as to what's going on, but I think it may have turned out too confusing. If you don't understand what just happened, please let me know. On that note, I would love to hear what people are thinking of this fic and where they think it's going.


	19. Chapter 19

Wanheda had requested that the King’s Guard call her Clarke as soon as they were clear of the city walls. Hawk agreed readily, as had the Lyf, though Hawk wasn’t sure that the other guard actually meant it. Laren said nothing, as usual. She was painfully quiet, especially for a child of fifteen.

They hadn’t discussed much before leaving, but they fell easily enough into a pattern. Laren, who had a Trikru mother and had traveled this road many times, took the lead. Clarke came after, with Hawk on her left side. The healers and scholars were next some distance behind, followed by the green boys that passed for Skaikru warriors and finally Lyf in the rear with the older Skaikru guard. They had no banner. They did not need to announce Wanheda’s presence. 

Their pace was better than Hawk had hoped for, but still not particularly good. The overnight rain had stopped mid morning, leaving the sky clouded over and dark as dusk. The road near the city was wellbuilt and slightly raised so the water didn’t pool, but the mud was thick enough to make up for it. With luck the rain would hold off and it would have a chance to dry a bit by the time they reached the lower, rougher roads.

Hawk was not worried about an attack so close to the capital, so she let herself watch Clarke instead. The young woman rode well, or at least better than the others, and she put forward an air of calm strength. It was a good front, especially because it was at least half true. Clarke kom Skaikru was undeniably strong. Her calmness was almost believable if not for the hand slipping down to finger the blade that Roan had given her. She would catch herself, sometimes after her hand had been on it for several minutes and sometimes before she had even touched the handle.

_ “Does wearing a weapon bring you comfort?” _ Hawk asked. 

_ “No.” _ Clarke replied. _ “I don’t know why I keep reaching for it. It’s not like it will help anything.” _

_ “It won’t help much.” _ Hawk agreed. She was glad it didn’t ease her mind. Having a weapon was always better than not, but whatever consolation it brought was entirely placation. The upcoming battle wouldn’t be affected much by one small dagger.  _ “I can help you with your armour before the battle.” _

_ “Assuming there will be a battle.” _ The words were far too optimistic for someone who had seen as much as the Wanheda. There was no possible way she meant them.

_ “You know better than to believe that. Peaceful intentions rarely save many lives. My Lady.” _ Hawk added as an afterthought.

Clarke glanced at her, but said nothing. 

“This Indra.” Hawk spoke in the Skaikru language this time. “I’ve heard of her. What’s she like?” She knew Roan and Maren’s opinions on the chief. Maybe Clarke’s would be different.

“She’s a Trikru warrior through and through. Strong, loyal, honorable, the usual. Not above mercy or vengeance. Smart, but straightforward. Her loyalty is to the Commander first, her people second, and anything else after that. Octavia was her second for a time. They parted ways at the Mountain over a disagreement in priorities, but she’ll never deny that Octavia made her proud.” Clarke sighed and wove her fingers into Sontam’s mane.

“Was her loyalty to Lexa specifically, or the position of Commander and the Coalition as a whole?”

“Both, I think. She loved Lexa, like all who followed her, but she’ll stand by the next Commander.”

“You were not Lexa’s follower.” Hawk commented. Clarke’s knuckles tightened around her reins but she said nothing. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Clarke shook her head, her hair fluttering in the breeze it made. “Don’t.” She took a long breath, staring ahead. “Indra is… predictable is the wrong word. Solid is better, I guess. We may not agree on many things, but I would be very surprised if she ever blindsided me.”

“That’s good. An unpredictable ally can be just as dangerous as an unpredictable enemy.” The words sounded patronizing and awkward. Wanheda knew damn well the value and risks of allies. “Will she stand by you as an Azgedan?”

“She warned me against going to Roan for help, but she sent us the rider, so clearly she’s willing to keep communication open. She doesn’t have the strength to reject an offering of friendship out of hand, especially with Polis in disarray. If she still trusts me, if she can trust Roan…” Clarke didn’t finish.

“She would have no reason to trust our people. Her sister, Satra, was a Trikru chief and Lexa’s advisor before her. She died leading Trikru and Delfikru forces against Nia. I saw her on the field once, at the end. She was fearless.” Hawk tried to say it as neutrally as possible, but Clarke caught her real meaning anyways.

“You didn’t like her.” It wasn’t a question. Hawk realized, rather belatedly, that even though Clarke was staring at the forest ahead of them intently, her true focus was just as much on trying to figure out Hawk as Hawk’s was on her.

“Satra’s last battle was a slaughter.” She let harsh judgement spread across her face and leak into her voice. “Four hundred infantry against nearly a thousand mixed units, infantry and archers and cavalry. Leading up to the battle, we kept thinking that she had to have a plan, some trick she had yet to reveal. She was known for being straightforward, but why else would she meet our troops on an open field? Our scouts came back alive, though, and they were convinced that there were no other forces laying in wait. Someone even proposed that there might be tunnels or something that we didn’t know about hiding the other half of her army. The forest was a quarter mile away. She could have retreated where we couldn’t easily follow and regroup with the rest of the Coalition forces, but she didn’t. Nearly all of her warriors died that day. That battle almost cost Lexa the war. If the sheer loss of numbers weren’t enough, Sangedakru and Ingramonakru nearly pulled out of the Coalition. Those two clans had more caverly than the other nine combined. No one knows for sure what she said to the ambassadors to get them to stay, but most consider that to be her turning point. She didn’t make a mistake like that again.”

Clarke hummed in acknowledgement. “I knew that war was brutal, but I didn’t know that. She always tried to do what was best for her people, even if it meant abandoning mine in the Mountain.” She pursed her lips, looking more tired than she had a minute ago with a shadow of pain in her eyes, then opened her mouth to say something more but Hawk interrupted.

“Would you have acted so differently? I don’t understand the pressures that the bearers of crowns encounter, but it’s easy to see yourself acting with honor in a situation you’ve never faced.” The impulsive words fell from her lips with a bite.

Clarke’s entire body shifted in anger, tense and irate, towards Hawk. “I would  _ never _ betray my allies like that. Believe what you want, but I have honor.” She spit out. Hawk knew she had hit a raw nerve. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Skaikru following thirty feet behind with Laren nearly as far ahead. It was a dangerous way to travel, but she was glad they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Honor means different things to different people, Wanheda.” She had not meant to be this blunt, especially since Roan had hoped she could befriend Clarke and help to make her feel at home. “Would you really risk the lives of your Skaikru for him? He’s my cousin, my family. You do not understand what that means.” She took a breath. “I don’t expect you to care about him as I do, but he respects you. He considers you a friend.”

“And what do you want from me? To say that no one has ever filled me with trust like he did when he helped me try to kill his mother? I didn’t betray him and he didn’t betray me and that’s a hell of a lot better than most people. I don’t have friends, not anymore, but if I did he would be one.” Clarke’s blue eyes flashed and she had a vicious look to her. 

Hawk recoiled, abject horror freezing her inside. “He helped you try to kill Queen Nia?” Roan had never loved his mother, but she hadn’t expected this.

“He didn’t tell you.” Clarke’s anger drained away, immediately replaced with alarm.

“No he didn’t.” Hawk said quietly.

“It was my plan. I was trying to prevent the duel between him and Lexa. I don’t know why he agreed to help. I thought he would’ve told you about it.” She was defending him, backpedaling to undo the damage of her slip. 

“Killing your sovereign is a serious crime. To even think it would be punishable if they knew. But Lexa was his sovereign too. It was a choice and he chose the one with less bloodshed.” Hawk suddenly had a better comprehension of just how practical Roan had become in his banishment. She looked around to keep an eye on the Skaikru again and spoke softly. “He compared you to her once. Lexa, not Nia. He said that you were so like a true Heda it was hard to tell the difference.”

“And what is a true Heda like?” Clarke seemed glad of a change in the conversation.

“Young and very suddenly thrust into power with wars to fight and people to lead. To have strengths that no one else truly understands until they get tested over and over.” 

There had been more honesty spoken in the last few minutes than Hawk had intended for the entire trip. She was fine with the silence that followed.

“Did you respect her?” Clarke finally broke the quiet.

It was a question this time and not an optional one. Even if Hawk hadn’t respected the Commander - which she had - Clarke only wanted one answer. “I did. She was young and somewhat naive when she took control, but she learned quickly. By her death, she was one of the strongest leaders the Coalition had ever had. She was wise and cautious and did what was best for her people.” Hawk glanced over and decided to take a risk. “It would seem we are in an era of those.”

Clarke’s mouth quirked at the flattery. It was hard to tell if she took it as genuine, but she didn’t seem offended. “Roan said I should ask you for advice. Why you?”

“Because you’re still new to our politics. Because I know more about our country that almost anyone, including my cousin. Because if something terrible happens, he wants someone around to take the blame.” She grinned, sharp lips parting over white teeth. Clarke snorted.

“How selfless.” Her voice was dry and her face hard to read.

“Reputations are important. Especially yours.”

Clarke couldn’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Hawk talked on and off for the next few hours. Hawk found it easier to entertain Clarke with tales from her childhood, specifically ones involving her royal cousin in some way. It wasn’t hard to keep the stories coming. Roan had done a lot of stupid things as a child. Hawk’s favorite was one involving a wild piglet and it’s tiny, malformed tusks (Four inch scar along his right hip. It went deep. If he says it’s from something else, he’s lying to save his pride). She had just finished another one about the time Roan stole the heart of a woman Hawk had wanted to marry (It was for the best really. She was the sweetest girl I ever loved, and I was enamored when we tied for first in an archery competition out of hundreds, but she couldn’t hold a conversation for more than five minutes that wasn’t about hunting. A shame he didn’t realize it either) when they stopped for the evening. 

It was an hour before dusk when they came across a travelers shrine, a long low structure with three walls and a slanted roof. The plan was to eat, sleep, and wake after half the night to head out again in the small hours between night and morning. David and Lyf worked on a fire using the small stack of dry wood against the wall. It wasn’t much - the last people to stay here didn’t replace what they took - while the rest saw to the horses. The Skaikru didn’t know what they were doing, but they listened well enough and did what they were told. Soon the horses were clean and fed and the fire was set with a stew simmering over it.

Dinner was an easy enough affair. Throughout the day, when Clarke and her people were taking short breaks, Laren or Lyf had wandered off into the brush to forage. The mud made it difficult and the areas nearest the road were often picked clean, but luckily it was early enough in the spring that the new growths were just sprouting. By the end of the day they had two squirrels, a rabbit, three different varieties of root vegetables, and a pile of leafy greens splattered in grime. They had even managed to find a few early berries.

While the meat cooked and the vegetables boiled, David rinsed off the greens as well as he could and mashed the berries on top. The soup was done by the time the salad was polished off, fingers sticky from the sweetness. 

The comradery over their meal was forced to say the least, but they were trying. The younger Miller was the most engaging, asking Lyf questions about foraging. He was one of the few who had had to survive off of the land and wanted to know more, should he ever be in that situation again.

“That’s so fascinating, simply being able to walk into the middle of nothing and finding food. That’s just, unreal.” Kos the healer said wistfully. Even the other Skaikru looked taken aback, no one quite sure how to respond to something like that. 

“It’s... not exactly that simple.” Monty said diplomatically.

Hawk took a breath to add to the conversation, but couldn’t think of what to say that wouldn’t be insulting. By the standards of her people, her survival skills were pathetically meager. She could openly admit it with only a small amount of regret; she was raised in the city and had trained to be a royal guard for most of her life. There were certain skills that she did not need to dedicate large amounts of time towards and that was one of them. As such, most children of age eight could live off the land as well as her. Yet to not know the bare minimum that she did, not being able to identify a dandelion without the yellow crown or to tell types on trees apart, gave her a second of question towards the true depth of Skaikru knowledge. 

She quickly put the thought out of her mind. She was not stupid enough to believe that all knowledge was equivalent. A smith might know nothing about training an unbroken horse, but that did not make them a bad smith. All the same, the circle fell silent and Kos didn’t seem to realize the effect his words had. 

“Your people have a longer recorded history than ours. Does this extend to lost gods?” Lyf asked as if it had just popped into her head and she was dying to know the answer. 

“Yes!” The younger Miller leaned forward enthusiastically. “There are some weird ones.” His grin was open and friendly.

A new conversation was started, one that nearly all of the Skaikru contributed to. They each had their own favorite story about a different dead god. Nathan was fond of trickster gods and talked about numerous ones from different cultures. Another one named Alice was fond of an entire family of incestuous gods, each more petty and vicious than the last. The boy Monty was gently teased about an undead god who raised himself from his grave and fed his followers his own blood and flesh. He had been worshiped by Monty’s ancestors not even four generations before. The other older man, Sinclair, spoke about a religion that had survived for thousands and thousands of years, one that was based on ancestry and tradition rather than belief, one that ran through his veins. He kept to the traditions even now, lighting candles and whispering words in remembrance. 

Quietly, hesitantly, the boy Bryan spoke about the Last Tree and the religion of the Ark. The Ark was gone and so too was it’s religion. The Tree had always symbolized peace to him, and helped settle the intrinsic feeling that he wasn’t where he belonged. When he went to services, he was reminded that this stasis was temporary, even if it was all he would ever know. Now that it was over, now that he had achieved the greatest desire of his people and found it wasn’t what he was told, he didn’t know where he was left. The world was changing and he had to change with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to add with this chapter. Thank you all for continuing to read. As always, please leave a comment if you feel like it. I love to know where my readers(!!!) are at.


	20. Chapter 20

Octavia was pulling her pants up over her thighs when Take found her. The man was twitchy, which wasn’t particularly new, but something had set him on edge.

“What is it?” She asked as she tugged her shirt over her head. He stood just outside the ring of her torchlight.

“Wanheda arrived. With the Azgedan king and an army at her back.” Take scared easily for a Trikru and it showed. He had an arrow notched in his bow and his finger running slowly along the string, ready to fire in a moment. His gaze kept slipping from her to settle over her shoulder at Arkadia before jerking back. Octavia didn’t need to turn around to know what he saw. 

“They both came personally?” She tried not to think about the seventeen people strung up like meat to be smoked, tied using rope, leather thongs, and the occasional wire wrapped in cloth for the more feisty victims. Not that any of them were still struggling after three days. Octavia and Lincoln had ridden into Trikru territory just in time to be redirected to the field surrounding Arkadia to watch an old friend of Lincoln’s brave the meadow. His name was Toyan and he was a kind man, taking nothing but a flask of water with him as he walked slowly out into the unprotected open air. He made it less than half way before a shot rang out and he fell. 

Octavia and Lincoln were after him in a second, snaking rather than running straight. Two more shots were fired, but Pike’s marksmen were not the cream of the crop and neither bullet hit home. When they made it to Toyan, Lincoln threw him over his back and hurtled towards the tree line and Octavia followed directly behind him, serving as a shield from the snipers. Their feet dug for purchase in the dusty ground, kicking up small clouds as the grass roots gave way under the pressure. There was one more ringing crack that didn’t hit anything, then roaring loud enough to reverberate over the field. It seemed like Bellamy still had enough spine left to yell. 

When they finally reached the relative safety of tree cover, Lincoln had shrugged Toyan off his back and Octavia caught him, quickly lowering him to the ground. Luck was with them; Nyko was among the Trikru waiting in the forest. He pulled off Toyan’s armour and shirt until there was nothing but his chest binder left and immediately started tending the wound in his abdomen. The other Trikru stood around uselessly, staring at the bleeding man, and didn’t notice Octavia start to strip. 

She was in her bra band and shorts with Toyan’s dropped water flask as well as her own bottle in hand before anyone blinked an eye. The pasture of short yellow grass stared back at her as she took her first steps, long and expansive and leaving her utterly susceptible, relying solely on the remaining goodness of her brother and the hope that others might listen to him. Ten feet out and Indra was calling to her, demanding that she return. Lincoln, still dripping in blood, barked her name but she waved him off, focusing exclusively on the seventeen shapes dangling in the sun. The sun broke through the clouded sky, cold and dreary and it made her shiver. If she didn’t look like she could be carrying a weapon, they would be less likely to shoot her. Probably.

Her feet followed the indents left by Lincoln’s heavy steps until she reached and passed the dark, thick puddle of mud made by Toyan’s congealed blood. Three steps later a warning shot rang out and made a puff of dust two feet from her. She put her hands up, completely defenceless and vulnerable, and inched forward one, two, three more steps. No more warning shots were fired, so she kept going slowly, so slowly. If there were two things Bellamy could be counted on, they were to make the most destructive possible decision and to always try to protect his sister, even if it meant fighting with his leader.

It took her minutes of inching forward until she was within thirty feet. The gate cracked open and her brother slipped out, disheveled with damp hair, shaving cream under his jaw, and a gun over his shoulder. 

“Octavia,” He started, his feet shifting through the coarse, lifeless grass. His voice was tight with something that might have been fear or might have been shame or maybe something else entirely. She didn’t really care. He opened his mouth again and Octavia realized that if he kept talking, she might actually kill him. If the next thing out of his mouth was a justification for the torture of innocent people, or a plea for her to forgive him for his genocidal actions, she would start hitting him and not stop until one of them was dead. 

“I’m going to give these people water.” She felt the ghost of his hands holding her when she was a child, crying from a nightmare, while she pictured crushing his windpipe under her elbow and pushed both thoughts from her mind. They were equally unwelcome. 

“I can’t just let you-”

“I’m going to give these people water. Are you going to shoot me?” 

“What? No! Of course not!” He was terribly offended by the legitimate question. She supposed the line between right and wrong must seem perfectly clear to the person who kept rewriting it. She took two deliberate steps forwards. He seemed to shrink back.

“I’m going to give these people water. You cannot stop me without shooting me.” They very well could stop her if they got creative, given the amount of non lethal weaponry they had tucked away, but ‘you’ll have to tase me’ sounded less impressive and if they couldn’t come up with that idea on their own, she wasn’t going to help. 

Bellamy didn’t try to talk to her again. Instead he just stood there, looking like a petulant child who made a terrible mistake but was too stubborn to admit it, only much more repulsive. Her heart ached and bile rose in the back of her throat. She wanted to force him to sign a peace treaty in his own blood before ripping out his throat to salt the Arkadian fields. The hand holding the water bottle shook slightly, spilling a trickle down the chin of the man she was giving water to. He was a teacher that she had never properly met before and she was pretty sure that he had been friends with Pike until two weeks prior. 

How much salt was there in blood? Her mind wandered to things less painful. Was it enough to salt a field? Probably not. She might have to saturate the earth for days. Her lips twitched in a slight smile as she looked at the Green bitch through the fence.

Even when given sparingly, there hadn’t been nearly enough water for all seventeen people. She had to make two more trips, each time Bellamy trying to get her to speak to him. Each time she resolutely ignored him. On her fourth return, she brought flatbread and soft cheese, which seemed easy enough for someone who hadn’t eaten in two days. Green came after her herself, waving a gun like a toy and screaming about going too far. She still hadn’t shot yet, but Octavia knew better than to try pushing her luck. Her brother’s influence wouldn’t overrule Pike if he got involved. 

Since then, she had come out every few hours to nourish the victims with a variety of juice, broth, water, and hope. She whispered to them that Clarke was already on her way, coming to save them, and hoped that it was true. 

Still, she was surprised that Roan had come with her, especially this close to the ceremony. There had to be some important preparations that he was neglecting somewhere. She turned to Take. “Are they in Ton?”

“Yes. With the Chief.”

“Any chance things were going to get hostile?”

“We’re talking about Azgeda. I’m surprised they haven’t started the slaughter already. Indra’s made some bad decisions, but letting those beasts into out territory is disgusting.” He spat out the words and if Octavia had more time, she would have chewed him out for it. It was well known that he loved archery because it let him fight from a distance with less chance of being killed. She had better things to do than wring out a would-be warrior, though. Her horse was where she had left it and in a minute she was off.

Octavia rode hard. The exercise helped her to think or, even better, to not think. When she reached town, she was greeted by Bryan of all people outside a paddock. A few drops of sweat rolled down the small of her back as she made her way to him, reins in hand. 

“I can take her if you want. Clarke said to send you over when you got here.”

“You’ll find someone to brush her down?”

He nodded, so she handed the horse over. The throng of people was thick the further into town she got, torches flickering out over the faces of people she half knew. When she had been Indra’s second she hadn’t been welcome exactly, but she had been tolerated. Now they just glanced at her long enough to meet her eyes and make sure she saw them look away. At least making the crowd part wasn’t hard, until suddenly it was. There was a wall of warriors shoulder to shoulder around the town square. Octavia tried to push through but they just shook her off. There was no way she could get between them without causing a scene. 

Weaving around the outside of the cluster, Octavia could get a glimpse or two inside. The brown of Indra’s armour was visible here, a shock of blonde hair there, but the noise of the crowd was too much to hear what was being said.

Octavia had made most of a full circle around before a hand reached out to snag her. Fingers curled around her knife, she let herself be jerked into the ring. It was the King’s Guard, Hawk. Octavia took the spot she was offered by her side and tried not to feel repulsed by the association and implied familiarity of the gesture. She was an Azgedan guard now too and she had no right to feel seperate or superior. 

Directly in front of her was the back of Roan’s head. He had an empty sheath at his side, which would have been a nice peace gesture if not for the other blades hidden under his clothes that everyone knew he had. She was also pretty sure he was wearing a bullet proof vest under his leathers, but it was hard to tell. Across from him was Indra in full arms and armour, looking as ready for battle as she always did. Clarke sat between them. She was the mediator. It spoke volumes that Indra would let Clarke choose a position of arbitration rather than force her on Roan’s side. 

There was a table between them with two glasses and two bottles and suddenly Octavia understood what was going on. She couldn’t remember the name for the custom, but each one presented the other with a bottle of liquor for the other to drink. No tasters, no interventions, and no backing out. They were already pouring. Indra’s eyes flickered to Octavia fast enough that it was barely noticable. She tried to subtly nod, but the older woman was already looking back at the man in front of her. 

This was huge. This was an open, public bet that the other was a friend. If it went wrong, there would be a slaughter. Clarke would’ve found a way to ensure both parties were completely dedicated towards success, wouldn’t she? And make sure neither bottle was tampered with? They were seconds away from a peace treaty or a bloodbath and she had no idea whose side she was on. Clarke’s, probably, but whose side would Clarke be on?

The cups were being raised to lips. Both leaders drank together until they were empty. Octavia was sure she couldn’t actually hear the sound of the ceramic settling on the wood table, but the clink resonated anyways. 

The ritual was over, but the danger wasn’t. Poisons could take days to present and if either of them fell ill, everything would fall apart. An outside party could try to sabotage it or they could easily do it themselves to put the blame on the other. She was astonished that Clarke would let such a risky plan happen, even if it was the fastest way to establish a temporary peace.

Every person in the crowd could feel the tension. Octavia had only ever heard of these things, so she had no idea how long they were supposed to wait. After a few minutes, not nearly enough time to actually know anything for sure but long enough to feel like ages of nothing, Clarke stood up.

“Let’s get to work.” She turned to Octavia and beckoned her over. “I need to know what’s going on.”

Octavia leapt forward. She had a lot to say. A small stream of Skaikru followed as they found somewhere private to talk.

 

* * *

 

It took another few hours to brief Clarke, Roan, and the others on what had happened. It was late when they had arrived. Now it was well into the small hours of the morning. It was an odd time to be awake from either direction, but she wasn’t planning on sleeping any time soon. Most of the Skaikru had wanted to act as quickly as possible, but Clarke had agreed with Octavia to wait. Even she had been warned against trying to approach the fence at unexpected times. If Clarke tried, the Arkadians would think they were under attack. Besides, waiting until morning meant that they could get a head start on manufacturing flash bombs. They couldn’t make any proper grenades since the only explosive they had was the gunpowder in the bullets, which were too valuable to deconstruct, but they did have plenty of aluminium and potassium chlorate. It was unstable and dangerous, but the chemists knew what they were doing. 

Octavia wouldn’t be of any use, so instead she wandered. The majority of the Azgedan army was camped outside of town, but a few came in with their king. Not all of them were as level headed as their sovereign and his cousin, and there were Trikru who still hurt from the wars between Azgeda and the rest of the Coalition. 

As far as she could tell, though, the town was quiet. Eventually she came to hope that she and Lincoln, who was still with Clarke, might be able to sneak away for some down time before dawn, but as soon as she started to head back Take found her.

“You’re still awake. Indra wants to talk to you. She’s at the crater.” He was wearing even more armor than before and still had his bow strung. Octavia rolled her eyes at him.

The crater had become a ghost yard of sorts with no one going too close if they didn’t have to. Indra was easy enough to spot. They stood on the edge of the black pit together with nothing but the mostly full moon to light up the chasm.

“Your new king invited me to that ceremony of yours today as if it wasn’t a blatant attempt to win friendship.” It was impossible to truly see her face, but her voice was as even as ever. 

“Clarke would’ve invited you herself if not for the potential fallout. Roan has been on the throne for a month and already invited an entire clan of invaders into his capital. If he isn’t careful, there will probably be treason, and one attack might inspire others. They’re a bigger threat to him.”

“A comfort to know that our clan is only an afterthought. It would be foolish to accept the invitation.”

“Not foolish, but it would complicate things. If you sent an emissary, someone not particularly important, in would be neutral enough without seeming like you have a personal investment.” Maybe it was the dark or maybe it was the fact that she was very close to being a member of another clan, but Octavia spoke more openly than she normally would with the woman she still considered her biggest mentor.

“You’re a very loyal warrior, Octavia. It’s a shame you’re pulled in so many directions. Tell me, do you still have a place in your heart for my people?”

“Always.” Octavia couldn’t fathom a different answer.

“You have too much heart, girl, and it will hurt you.” She sounded tired.

Octavia thought of her burning desire to murder her brother, the only person who had loved her unconditionally for most of her life, and said nothing. 

“If Azgeda where to march on us, would you warn us?” Indra continued.

“Clarke wrote that peace treaty into the alliance contract. If Roan throws it out, that means the entire thing gets thrown out. If he marches on you, none of us will be in any position to warn you of anything.” Octavia and Lincoln were the only two who could really fight. They would be the first ones killed.

Indra grunted. “Come, let’s get a few hours of sleep before dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So guess where I live? SE Minneapolis, AKA, That One Place Where the Sportsball Happened. Last week was kinda hell.   
> Anywho, I have officially mapped out the rest of this story. I may end up posting every other week due to longer chapter lengths and the fact that I want to be able pay more attention to the details, but once a week is still the goal. From here on out it should be exclusively Clarke or Roan’s POV. I just started writing Octavia’s POV for fun and found that I really liked it.  
> Also I know nothing about chemistry or how to make flash bombs other than what thirty minutes on Wikipedia taught me. If I made a grievous error, please let me know.  
> As always, I would love to hear from my lovely readers about your thoughts.


	21. Chapter 21

Clarke was pretty sure she had gotten less than ten hours of sleep in the last forty eight hours, but then again she wasn’t really counting. Roan had even less and he had to be on the lookout for assassination attempts. She pulled back the oiled cloth over one of the wagons, papers in hand, and wondered who would try to kill them that they didn’t already know about. It was too good an opportunity to miss. 

The supply train had caught up with the front riders just outside of Trikru territory. Clarke, Roan, and a few others rode ahead to reach a truce without a giant mob of warriors descending on an unsuspecting town. Indra had been reasonable and a truce was struck. 

A full inventory of all the supplies had been sent along, but Clarke didn’t know how accurate it was. Things had been taken and used during the ride, mostly accounted for, but a few items still slipped through the cracks. The Skaikru who stayed in Pensa had done a decent job of rounding up resources that might be useful and sending them on and there was a decent chance that they hadn’t been recorded correctly. They weren’t top quality, not by a long shot, and Clarke had been warned that the explosives would be unstable, made more complicated by just how much they had. Making sure that they had full control over them when they went off would be a task in and of itself. 

Right now, though, Clarke focused on the food and survival gear. She had been promised enough for a long encampment and it had been delivered, but she wanted to know quantities down to the grain.

“You don’t trust the others to count for you?” Roan was glistening with sweat as he approached. Even with a war on the horizon, he didn’t skip his morning exercise. He and Indra combined their usual groups for an hour of training in the town square as a show of friendship. Knowing them, it probably worked. 

“Just double checking.” She said with a glance at him. He hummed in acknowledgement.

“How long have they been gone?” He was at her shoulder, glancing at her notes. 

“Half an hour.” She tried to say it without inflection, but his eyebrows furrowed anyways. Even if it did take a while to convince Pike of the meeting, Octavia and Monty should’ve had an answer by now. On the bright side, it didn’t take twenty minutes for Pike to tell them to go fuck themselves.

They helped each other with armor while they waited. Bullet proof vests weren’t hard to put on, but Roan had only done it once before and Clarke wanted to make sure it was done right. Her hands ghosted over  his back, his shoulders, his chest, checking the straps. His leathers went over that, covering it completely. No one would know he had it on unless it came to a firefight. As for herself, she was wearing an old pair of jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, and her father’s watch with her own vest over it all, front and center. Pike could and would dehumanize and degrade the grounders into oblivion, but Clarke was born on the Ark and he would remember that.

Sitting together against the back of a cart going over their key negotiation points seemed painfully routine. It felt like debate class again and she hated it. At least she had a partner, though.

Nathan came jogging down the path as they started round two. “He’s coming.” He was breathless, rubbing his sweaty palms on his worn black pants. “Pike and Gillmer. They’re armed. Octavia and Monty aren’t with them, so it looks like Pike accepted the voluntary hostage situation.” It had been Monty’s idea and Octavia jumped on board. The two least likely to be killed, they walked right up to the gate and asked for an audience to try and talk Pike into a meeting with themselves as collateral against his safe return. From the look on his face, Roan was just as surprised as Clarke that Pike had agreed.

Clarke was on her feet in seconds, a coiled mass of tension with her thumbs hooked in her belt loops to keep her hands still. He was coming. Her skin itched in anticipation. Nathan took his spot behind her left shoulder, scuffing his foot against a pile of sodden leaves as one minute, two minutes, three minutes passed. A bird call echoed through the branches, but Roan didn’t flinch from his seat in the wagonbed. It wasn’t one of his people calling out a warning. He kept finger weaving the net in his lap back together, looking as inoffensive as a warrior king can. A chittering came from over their heads. Clarke wondered what a squirrel understood of death and destruction.

They came into view slowly. David and Lincoln were in the lead, unarmed but armored, making their way through the copse. Behind them was Pike, a rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked like he had the last time she had seen him, far too calm and reassured for comfort. If the food shortages had finally hit home, it hadn’t affected him yet. Behind him was his enforcer or whatever they were called. Clarke didn’t know the correct term for the thugs of a democratically elected fascist. They left the woods and David and Lincoln joined Nathan.

“Chancellor.” Clarke tried to start off as non-confrontational as possible.

“Princess.” The title was the least expected thing he could have said. Bellamy was the only person who called her that. Bellamy had confided details of their personal relationship to Pike. Bellamy had found one more way to betray her. She hadn’t thought that that was possible.

Clarke was Wanheda kom Skaikru, not princess of the Ark. She stood up straighter, relaxed her shoulders, and started talking. “Your people are going to starve. Your food stores are empty, or near enough that it makes no difference. Your first harvest is still weeks away. You, and all of your people, will die.” She spoke like she was reading a report, slow and steady. These were facts to be stated. “I do not want this to happen.”

David, Nathan, and Lincoln gripped the tarps over the carts and pulled. It was a dramatic flourish meant to catch the eye and it worked. Pike and his people stared at the piles of vegetables and sacks of grain, the heaps of dried meat and loaves of bread, even bags of salted fish and some early fruit. Enough to feed an army. Or a town.

“What a generous offer, but what kind of leader would I be if I accepted food from people who tried to murder us without question? Who killed so many of our children?” Pike flicked his eyes back to Clarke. His man kept staring like it was going to vanish in front of them. Pike’s voice was soothing, warm even. Clarke remembered taking his class, remembered looking up to him. Nearly every kid in the class thought he was amazing. Nearly. There had been a boy - Clarke couldn’t think of his name - who had never liked Pike. It wasn’t anything in particular, he had claimed, just a feeling. Everyone had laughed at him. Clarke really wished she could remember the boy’s name.

“If we wanted you dead,” Roan spoke from where he was still casually sitting, feet a few inches off the ground and focusing on the ropes in his hands. The Arkadians looked irritated at being reminded that he existed. “All we would have to do is nothing. We want this to end to everyone’s benefit.” He sounded like a politician. 

“Do nothing, nothing like having your spies sabotage our fence to leave us vulnerable?” Pike said. Clarke felt just a hint of relief that her suspicions were true. She hadn’t known for sure. Seventeen people hung from the fence. Thirteen of them were engineers, mechanics, electricians, or something similar. Now she knew that one of them had damaged the fence and Pike didn’t know which one, so he punished them all. Had he given them a chance to repair it or gone straight to the extreme?

“We can fix it for you, get your defenses back up.”

“And why would you do that?” Nothing about his easy demeanor gave away the type of person he really was. Not for the first time, Clarke wished she could read minds. 

“Well we aren’t going to do it while our people are still attached.” Roan said dryly, barely looking up. Clarke’s stomach fluttered at the casual, confident way he referred to them as his own people too. “But even with the supplemental food, and without those extra mouths, you’re still facing starvation. Arkadia is overpopulated. You don’t have enough land to support so many.”

“Look around. There’s plenty of land for us.” And there it was, the utterly mundane way he completely disregarded anyone he deemed subhuman. 

“No, there isn’t. Right now, my people are burying hundreds of landmines around the treeline. We will maintain it consistently. There will be no way for Arkadians to safely leave, no matter how many guns you wave around.”

A wave of fury shivered through Pike, breaking through his mask of companionable charismatic dictator. His eyes flashed as his entire body tensed, his right forefinger - his trigger finger - tap tap tapping against his thigh. He realized that they were walking him into a corner.

“Chancellor,” Clarke’s voice was soft, like she was talking to a wild animal. “All we’re asking is that you open your gates and get rid of the citizens you don’t want anyways. The dissenters-”

“You’re damn lucky I haven’t killed them already, Griffin. Traitors need to serve as a warning.” It was hard to tell if he was really losing his temper or just pretending to make them back off. Either way, his voice was getting louder and louder. 

“That’s one way to try to keep control.” Roan let the netting drop to his lap. It helped him seem less dangerous and foreign, but he needed them to listen closely now. “Why haven’t you killed them yet? My guess is that you know what would happen if you did. Fear is a paralytic. Anger is a motivator. Your population is what, four hundred right now? Kill all the people hanging from the fence, then double it for all of their parents, spouses, and children who object and fight you on it. That’s almost a tenth of your population, if not more, dead because one person rebelled against a wall. Not even your most vicious followers would approve.”

“If you do nothing, you will die. If you advance and try to take ground, you will die. If you lead a charge, you will die. If you punish those victims, you will have a mutiny by nightfall.” Clarke added before taking a breath. “And if you reject our offer, you will probably have one anyways, since Octavia and Monty are currently telling anyone who’ll listen what we’re doing here. It won’t be hard to convince them. Before we left, rumors of the food shortage were already going around. Some of them may be willing to starve with you, out of pride or stubbornness or whatever, but most of them want to live.” Her threat rang out clear and harsh. “All we have to do is wait. By morning the town would be decimated at best and we could sweep in and take it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Pike spit. There was a hesitation, not even a second’s worth but it was there. He believed her and that made him nervous. “Your people would die, every last one of them. You would never let that happen.”

Clarke looked him dead in the eye and said, “My people are already dead, Chancellor, if you walk away from this deal. We’ll have nothing left to lose. Only ghosts to avenge.”

“But you have your own ghosts in need of vengeance, Chancellor Pike, and if there’s one thing we can agree on it’s the need for justice for those slain, especially children.” Roan finally stood up completely and took two steps forward. Gillmer flinched. “I couldn’t imagine being asked to move past the deaths of so many without some sort of retribution, so I won’t ask it of you.”

It happened exactly like they had discussed hours earlier. Four bound warriors stalked through the brush, heads held high and proud, marching in front of Hawk.

“What the hell is this?” Pike gripped the butt of his rifle, completely thrown off. Roan strode past, barely two feet from him. Gillmer lurched back, almost tripping on a branch. Roan gave no indication that he noticed.

“A peace offering. A true peace offering.” The king gripped the back of the first one’s head, a mass of dreads and white paint, and pulled the woman’s face up. “You want justice for the deaths of those children. These four were the ones to find you that day, the ones who attacked the youngsters. The previous monarch kept them in the capitol as honored guests for casting the first strike in the new war. They have since become prisoners. Now they can be yours.” Roan’s lip started to twist. He was almost smiling and Clarke could see why. Pike wasn’t some well intentioned extremist who misguidedly wanted to protect his people, he was a vile and violent man who wanted nothing more than more violence.  They could have lined up deal after deal for him and he would have felt nothing at rejecting them, but this he wanted. It was obvious from the hunger in his eyes. They - Roan - had been right. If there was no better nature to appeal to, then appeal to what nature Pike did have.

“Fall kom Azgeda,” Roan continued when Pike said nothing. “You have been accused of hunting and killing the people of Farm Station, a sect of Sky People. Do you confess?” He pulled the scrap of cloth out of her mouth, letting the moist wool fall to the mossy ground.

“I do.” Her voice was rough and dirty and full of spite.

“Describe it. Tell us how you murdered them.”

“It was months ago. Middle of winter. We were out hunting, maybe an hour or two after dawn. There were fourteen little ones playing in a field, barely an adult in sight. Completely undefended.” Her lip curled in disgusting satisfaction. 

“Stop.” Gillmer choked out. He looked like he was about to be sick. His usual anger was gone, replaced with wild eyes and a restless adam's apple.

“No, keep going.” Pike’s focus burned into the warrior.

“Please stop.” Gillmer wasn’t just breathing hard, he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Do we have a deal, Pike?” Clarke brought his attention back around. He barely looked at her.

“Yes, Griffin, we have a deal.”

Clarke grinned, wide and wild, and did not think about the fates of those four humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry for the wait, this chapter took for-fucking-ever. I hated writing Pike. I was really tempted to just kill him so I could stop writing him, but that wouldn't have fit in with my plot. I had to plot out this chapter three or four different ways to get the progression of the dialogue to flow right.   
> As always, I love feedback and would love to hear from you folks.


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